Sumina
by Gossamer Nightmare
Summary: When a strange mirror comes into his possession, Ivan Braginsky will be dragged into a world of twists and turns, bizarre people and extraordinary lands. Multiple pairings. AU.
1. Beginnings

Sumina

-chapter one-

Beginnings

**A/N:** Well…this idea was really sudden. I actually liked it a lot, and I had thought for a while I wouldn't write anything with multiple chapters. Now look at this…multi-chapter fic! I've no clue how long this will turn out just yet. Hope you guys like it, too!

This is an AU, so I'm using human names over countries.

Axis Powers Hetalia and all its characters belong to Himaruya Hidekaz.

**Rating:** T, for violence, coarse language and a lot of gruesome images. The rating is liable to go up in future chapters, however.

**Summary:** When a strange mirror comes into his possession, Ivan Braginsky will be dragged into a world of twists and turns, bizarre people and extraordinary lands.

---

"No! P-Please don't kill me, sir! I'll tell you where he is! I have relatives that live in your country—you can't!" The auburn-haired man wept like a child, clinging to his leg.

Ivan Braginsky looked down at the Italian for just a moment before lifting the adorned mirror up to his face. "What do you think, Yao?"

The elegant male within the mirror blinked slowly. "Let's hear what he has to say, aru."

Looking back down at the whimpering Italian, he shook him off his leg and snapped, "Hear that? We've decided you can live." He noticed an instant change in the man, who hopped up immediately and hugged him 'round the waist.

"Oh, thank you! Thank you so much! I'm Feliciano Vargas. Hey, you're a lot nicer than you look!" This man—Feliciano—was obviously too benevolent to be the culprit. Ivan rolled his eyes.

"Yes, yes," he was impatient at this point "nice, of course. Now then, Feliciano, tell us where Arthur Kirkland is…my patience with you is wearing thin."

Feliciano cheerfully pointed towards a tall tower in the distance, nothing but a dark silhouette in the thick mist that surrounded it. "Kirkland the Grand lives in the Glass Tower over there!"

"…A glass tower, aru?" Ivan raises the mirror so that he may see its resident. Wang Yao looks positively puzzled. "That makes little sense."

"Oh, but that's what everyone calls it! No one's actually _gone_ to the tower…so for all we know it could be made of pasta!" Yao scoffs.

"That makes even _less_ sense, aru."

Ivan chuckles. "Come, now—it matters very little whether or not the tower is made of glass or pasta. As long as we find who we are looking for. Yao, I'll be putting the mirror away now."

Yao nods gently, "Alright. I'll speak with you later than, aru." With that, the Russian man tucked the mirror within his coat pocket, bid farewell to Feliciano Vargas, and turned on his heel, back to their place of rest.

"Ah! Braginsky-san," Kiku bows slightly at the Russian as he enters their room. "Did you find what we are looking for?"

"Yes—our little Italian friend was very helpful. Tomorrow, we will find Mister Kirkland and figure this whole mess out." Ivan smiles pleasantly, though Kiku backs up. Pushing past the tiny black-haired man, he sits down in a chair near the window, looking around the simple room. Two beds, the chair he is sitting in, a nightstand between the beds with a lamp on it, and down a short, narrow pathway, an equally-tiny bathroom. Kiku is sitting on one of the beds, legs folded under him, reading from a book. On the opposing bed, Heracles sits, staring out the window as if in a trance. Ivan finds his mind drifting back to the mirror, wonders exactly how it came into his possession. It brought him to this very place, and he'd be damned if he didn't finish. As he does so, he closes his eyes, leaning his head back in the chair and slumping into it.

_From the very beginning…._

Ivan remembers the very day that he held the mirror in his hands. He was at home, alone—it was his birthday, in fact, and he had locked the doors. While most would want to spend their birthdays with family, he would rather spend it with friends. His crazed sister had made his life living hell for ten years, and finally, he had escaped. It was on his last birthday that she had found his residence and shown up on his doorstep, "_Happy Birthday, brother! I love you…and I will forgive you for hiding. Now we can be together again, right?_" He hid within his home and called the police while Natalia wrecked his home, destroyed the life he had finally started over. And still, he feared her presence…he locked the door behind himself every day he came home from work. Sourly, he sat at his dining room table, holding a burning candle between his fingers.

"Happy Birthday, Ivan," he blew the candle out and tossed it aside.

_Happy Birthday, brother!_

The doorbell rang. Ivan stood abruptly, causing his chair to topple over. Running to the door, he held a long pipe within his hand, pressed his back against the wall nearest to the door, and glanced outside it for any sign of who it was. Slowly, very slowly, he unlocked the door, turned the knob and threw it open; raising the pipe up, ready to strike. The man standing on his doorstep threw his hands up and panicked. "Gah! Jesus, man, put down the pipe!" Ivan let out a sigh of relief and dropped the pipe to the floor. The instant he did so, the stranger calmed and reached into a bag at his side. "Ivan Braginsky?" He still looked worried.

"Yes, that's me."

The stranger nodded and pulled a wrapped package from his bag, placed it in Ivan's hands, and stepped back. Ivan turned the package around once or twice before ripping the string off with ease, tearing through the paper and unwinding the bubble wrap that encased it. What lay in his hands afterwards, however, was something he did not expect. A hand mirror with a rectangular shape – the edges soft and rounded – surrounded by a polished silver trim, carved with ancient markings and adorned with one central red gem on the back: a shining ruby or garnet with beautiful, prominent facets. It shook and hummed slightly in his grasp. Ivan turned back to the stranger at his doorstep and fixed him with a curious gaze. "Who sent this?" The stranger winked and disappeared, nowhere to be seen. Needless to say, Ivan shut and locked the door tight, grabbed his pipe and wandered back into the dining room.

He turned the mirror over in his hands continually. From what he remembered, he had spent hours turning it over in his hands. Its beauty was not lost, and found that by turning it over, the ancient carvings were inlaid with sparkling opal. In spite of this, the object unnerved him. It would rattle and hum at any given time, which he was not accustomed to. The mirror, he decided, was far too chilling. When he went to bed that night, he sealed it up tight within his nightstand drawer. All through the night it would rattle and hum, and all through the night Ivan would stare at his nightstand in fear. The next day he would go to bed, the mirror would rattle and hum in its enclosure, and Ivan would stare at the nightstand, losing precious, precious sleep. Eventually he gave up and pulled the thing from the drawer, glaring at the reflection of the violet-eyed man that stared back. "Dammit, what do you want?!" And the instant he spoke this, another face stared directly at him.

"I want your help, Ivan Braginsky. Please," a delicate voice called from within the mirror. Its owner was a man with honey-brown eyes and long dark hair pulled back into a ponytail with a silk ribbon, slung over the shoulder, dressed in clothes he could pin only to Chinese origins. Ivan dropped the mirror and scream, toddling backwards and stumbled onto his bed. The mirror called back to him, "Mister Braginsky? Braginsky? Please, I know this is strange, but I need your help, aru! You are the only one who can help me now, aru!" His hands were shaking as he picked the mirror up once more and held the man in his eyes.

"Who are you…and…how in the world do you know my name?" Ivan must have looked terrified, as the delicate voice tried to soothe him.

"Shh…calm yourself, aru. If it will make you feel better…I am Wang Yao. I know your name because the one who trapped me in here told me it just before wrapping the mirror up." So the man said. Ivan was not entirely convinced.

"This isn't…what's going on?!" His glare must have frightened Yao, as his eyes widened.

"Please, calm down, aru!" He begged, and Ivan found himself calming. "Thank you. Now this all must be so confusing…but please…I need you to find out who sealed me away in this wretched mirror, aru!"

Ivan glared. "I am not entirely convinced. Give me some time, and I will decide whether or not to help you."

"How can I convince you, aru? What shall I do? It hasn't been long, and already, this is torture…" Yao's voice was weighed down by age and weariness; Ivan felt a pang of remorse go through his body, but his resolve was solid.

"You will talk with me every day. Keep me company. If I find that you are truly worth the trouble, then I'll agree." Yao closed his eyes and wept silently. Whether it was from stress, relief or the sudden twist that had been thrown his way, he was not quite sure.

The next few weeks were filled with conversations between the two. They spoke idly, often at random intervals. Ivan found that the mirror made the man weak, so Yao would often sleep. And in this time, Ivan would watch the slumbering man, admiring his immense beauty, all the while desiring him for his own. Whenever the man would stir, he'd place the mirror face-down on the table. It was only once that Yao had caught Ivan watching him, and even then, the sleepy man had forgotten it – perhaps had thought it was a dream. Ivan was thankful that the Chinese man was so tired. He enjoyed admiring the beauty, no matter how much it made him itch to meet him face to face. 'If Yao is beautiful within a mirror,' he reasoned, 'then he must be _stunning_ outside of one!' And that was what made up his mind to do such a foolish thing. He had agreed to it, and he would no doubt regret it along the way.

After a month had passed, Ivan spoke the words Yao had wanted to hear since the day they had met. "Now then, Yao, what should I do? Who should I speak to? It's time we got going with this."

"I-Ivan, you…you're going to help me, aru?" Yao sounded stunned and absolutely hopeful. He couldn't let him down now.

"Yes, Yao; now explain how I should begin," Ivan fixed him with a hard stare.

"Of course, aru," Ivan noted how ecstatic the Chinese man was in both appearance and tone. "You need to find Francis Bonnefoy – he can identify magic signatures, and should be able to tell you exactly who did this to me, aru!"

"Hm," Ivan hummed "How will we get there?"

"I can use some of my magic, just so long as you're holding the mirror, aru. I won't be able to use much of it, though – it's mostly suppressed by this cursed mirror, aru," so he explained and Ivan nodded in response. It did not take him long to gather up the things he'd need: clothing, non-perishable food items, and his trusty pipe. However, there was quite a bit bothering him. Something did not feel right. He lay down upon his bed, ready to sleep, and told Yao he would be ready in the morning. Yes, he would be ready. He had already given his word to help. If he went back now, he would face the risk of disappointing Yao greatly. Somehow, he had made a connection with the man. A connection that he could not forget – one that made him worry what would happen to Yao, should he deny him. He fell asleep, thinking of the delicate man trapped within the mirror, and the whispering voice of his sister.

When he woke up in the morning, he dressed himself – careful not to forget his favorite scarf – and immediately gathered his things. He slung his backpack over his shoulder and held his water pipe in his free hand, the glittering silver mirror in the other. Lifting it to his face, he roused Yao from what seemed to be a deep sleep and told him he was ready.

"Okay, Ivan…close your eyes, aru," Yao commanded, and Ivan did as he said. He felt himself being swirled about, tossed left and right roughly, whipped around by a large gust of wind. This wind buffeted him relentlessly, even to the point that he feared he would lose the mirror in the wild rush of wind. Yet the mirror seemed glued to his hand. It was the only stable, stationary thing on him. The wind died down after what seemed an eternity. "You may open your eyes now, aru." Ivan took in a deep breath. What would lie in immediate sight?

When he opened his eyes, he was in a wildly new place.


	2. La Maison de Bonnefoy

Sumina

-chapter two-

La Maison de Bonnefoy

**A/N: **Excuse the title if it's incorrect…I'm not a speaker of French. Hahaha…just pulled it offline, really. But if it's correct, it should translate to "The House of Bonnefoy". Anyhow, enjoy the chapter, guys!

**Rating:** T, still; for violence, coarse language and some gruesome images.

**Chapter Pairings: **In this chapter, there's some subtle FrancexCanda.

---

The estate before his eyes was too much for him to comprehend. Ivan's head swam as he took in all around him, while Yao worried and fussed over him like a mother hen. Before he could sway and fall over, the tall Russian sat upon the steps of the massive front doors, holding his forehead, collecting himself. Yao's soft voice soothed him, "Don't worry about it, aru. It happens to everyone the first time they're teleported, aru." The voice was balmy and sweet to his ears. He could practically feel the swirling sensation in his mind settle down, his former clarity returning to him. Dismissing Yao, he placed the mirror in his enormous pocket (the handle stuck out slightly), walked up the steps, and knocked on the ringers of the double-doors.

Several minutes after, the door was slowly slid open. In the doorway stood a meek-looking young boy, no older than nineteen, with warm, gold-blond hair pulled back into a neat ponytail – excluding one long, springy piece that bounced up in an unruly fashion – and azure eyes ringed in darker blue. He was dressed in a dark suit with white gloves, dress shirt, and gold accents. Perched atop his nose was a pair of glasses, which he would adjust occasionally. "Yes?" he began in a quiet, whispery tone. "Can I help you, sir?"

"Ah, is Francis Bonnefoy home? I need to speak with him," Ivan explained, looking past the serving man.

"Yes, sir, Monsieur Bonnefoy is home…but do you have an appointment with him? He is, um…currently busy," the boy spoke up in a very gentle tone. Fixing him with a scrutinizing gaze, Ivan could not decide if the boy was lying or if he was simply unsure. "What brings you here, sir?"

"Tell him Wang Yao sent me." The boy stiffened immediately.

"R-Right away, sir!" as he spoke, the boy turned on his heel and dashed down the hall, calling out, "Monsieur! _Monsieur!!_"

Ivan waited patiently for the blond to return. When he did, he looked slightly shaken, and began in an even quieter voice—which Ivan was in disbelief that it could get any quieter; he had to strain his ears and crane his neck closer to the boy to even make out the basics of what he was saying—"Monsieur Bonnefoy will see you now, sir. Follow me, sir." He led Ivan down massive hallways and through several doors before entering a large study, with one high-arched window overlooking a beautiful rose garden. The serving boy led him over to a two-person table, covered in fresh glasses and a single bottle of wine. He retreated next to his master, standing to the side, arms folded behind his back.

There sat the master of the home, with beautiful golden locks, bright blue eyes, and slight stubble on his chin – dressed in rich clothes that only the wealthy could afford. He sipped from a glass of dark red wine, placed it upon the table as he saw his guest. It wasn't strange for Ivan to get stares. He had always been tall for his age; always strong and intimidating…at first it had bothered him, but as time passed he found that it was better to accept his abnormalities. With these he learned that it was simply easier to scare things from others. As he stared, Ivan raised an eyebrow. Immediately after the Frenchman gestured to the chair across from his, "Sit, sit! It would be rude for me to not offer a chair to my guest." When Ivan did as he was told, Francis smiled at him in a smooth, experienced way. "So, may I ask what your business is here, Ivan?"

"How do you know my name?" Ivan started in a sharp tone, careful to smooth the edges and hide his initial shock. What he got in response? A pointed, loud laugh; something he did not expect either.

"Oh, that is quite unimportant, Ivan!" he began, his chuckles coming to a halt as he spoke his name yet again. "What is important is why you have come to me. Wang Yao sent you, you say?"

"…That's correct. He did send me," as Ivan said this, Francis chuckled yet again.

"You say Wang Yao has sent you! Oh, _mon dieu_, no one else would believe you!" Just as Ivan was to ask him why, he was interrupted with, "do not ask, for you will find out soon enough. Now then! Your business here: please, present the item of interest."

Ivan pulled the mirror from his pocket. Carefully—too carefully, Francis noted—Ivan placed the ornate object in his hands. He watched the Frenchman turn the mirror over with care, examine every inch of it. Francis made occasional hums of thought. Whether they were negative or positive, he was not quite sure. It was several minutes before the blond looked up, as if surprised that the Russian was still there. "What are you still doing here? I will need some time to trace the spell," he placed the mirror down and looked towards the serving boy near him. Oddly enough, his smile widened and curled up into a slight grin. "Matthew, would you please escort our guest to the waiting area and serve him while I work?"

The serving boy—Matthew—nodded, though he looked slightly flustered. His cheeks were colored a rosy hue as he gestured at Ivan, "F-Follow me, please, sir." Reluctantly, Ivan stood up and followed the boy, who was now at a near-sprint. He took long strides in order to keep up, turning his head and looking back at Francis and Wang Yao in the mirror.

Several hallways and doors later, Matthew had led him into a colorful room with plush chairs pulled up around a roaring fireplace. On either side there were two doors near a wide window, while the rest of the walls were dedicated to shelves piled with books and photographs of charming places in France. The warm wallpaper was seen mostly near the fireplace – a gentle sunny yellow with golden patterns. Lamps were lit at a very low light, so the color of the chairs and the soft carpeting beneath Ivan's feet were kept a mystery. He looked around with wonder that did not overtake his face.

The blond next to him cleared his throat. "This will be your room for the night, sir. I hope you find everything to your liking. The bedroom is to the left, the bathroom to the right. If you need anything, please call, sir." As he turned on his heel, Ivan's eyes went wide.

"What?! 'For the night'?!" he hissed, eyes narrowed. Matthew turned back to him, eyes wider than the angered man's before him. Fear was seated deep within them.

"Y-Yes, sir! Monsieur Bonnefoy will need the night to do his work! Please, calm yourself – nothing will happen to your object in his care!" While he panicked, his voice was still ridiculously low. Ivan found his seething anger stilling, coming to a slow halt. It wouldn't be right to yell at such a meek young boy, would it?

"…Very well. Thank you, Matthew." Ivan turned away and began to wander about the room.

"Your very w-welcome, s-sir. Have a g-good night." From his trembling voice, it was obvious he was still a little shaken. As he turned once again, he thought he heard Matthew mutter, "_Crazy bastard…_" but left it up to his imagination as the door slid shut behind the blond.

While still too early to sleep, Ivan decided to explore the rooms left for him. He wandered first over to the lamps and turned them on, looking down at the carpet: a light off-white, with no apparent patterns. Then moving over to the fireplace, he noted that the mantle was a brilliant white marble with dark gray lines running through it. As he passed the walls, he ran his hands on the smooth mahogany shelves and the spines of the old books. Most were French. He knew that he would not be reading tonight. Making his way towards the door to the right was a very slow process. When he reached the far wall he took his time to observe the front lawn through his window. It was a beautiful green with trees on either side of a long reflecting pool.

After some time, Ivan moved away from the window. He moved towards the right and opened the mahogany door into a marble-floored hallway with clean off-white walls. Passing through them, he found niches with overhead lights that illuminated little pots of colorful flowers. The room attached to the hallway was elliptical, with the same white marble flooring. In the center was a deep pill-shaped bathtub, surrounded by carved white sidings of faux-wood. Brown patterns in the marble flooring surrounded it. Covering most of the wall behind the bathtub was several windows overlooking the front lawn, obscured by clean white cotton drapes drawn neatly together. A set of blue double-doors was to the right, next to which was a nook, three sides covered by mirrors and a mirrored cabinet down to the floor, painted with gold, crackling accents. The sink was a clean white with a rich gold faucet to match the bathtub. Through the double-doors Ivan found an off-white room with a toilet and glass doors to an overhead shower. He shook his head, found himself some towels and soap, stripped down and showered.

After he had cleaned himself thoroughly, the Russian wrapped a towel around his waist and put a hand-towel over his head, rubbing his scalp vigorously. He wandered back into the first room and through the door to the left, entering a room with warm brown walls and white crown molding. The dressers, nightstands, and bed posts were all the same light brown with intricate carvings. On the left wall was the dresser, with a vase of roses on it, above which hung a large mirror. The king-sized bed was covered in red velvet sheets and white pillows, with the nightstands on both sides of the bed, two glass lamps lit brightly on their surfaces. He found pajamas on the bed; silk, delicate against his skin. As he lay down in the bed, he found himself falling fast asleep.

Matthew woke him in the morning. "Breakfast is ready, sir. Monsieur Bonnefoy will speak with you then." Ivan rubbed his eyes and yawned, pulling the covers from his body and dressing himself in the same clothes from yesterday. They had been folded and washed while he had slept. When he had clothed himself, Matthew led him into a large dining room. The table was long, and only Francis sat at the end. Ivan rolled his eyes. 'How excessive.' He was sat down right next to Francis, so that the two sat at one edge of the table.

"Ah, Ivan! Did you sleep well?" Francis smiled as a plate of food was set down in front of himself and his guest.

"Yes, I did—thank you for your hospitality." He answered, adding on his thanks as an afterthought. The two tucked into their meals, speaking only when their plates were cleared. "So, did you figure out anything?"

"What a terrible question! Such an insult! Of course I have," Francis shouted, slightly irked. "I am the best in my field. I have done what you came here for."

Ivan did not apologize. "And?"

Francis chuckled lightly. "And your mirror has been enchanted by someone I knew very well. Typical, for his work to show up in my home; his magic's pattern is quite distinguished. It was complex, with strong barriers to cover up his identity. The wizard is the greatest in _his_ field…or so he says." He is smirking as he speaks. "Ha! The man that has worked his magic on your mirror is Arthur Kirkland."

"Arthur Kirkland," Ivan repeated, committing the name to memory. "Where can I find him?"

"Ah, such a difficult question…I see you are intent on finding this man. He is a recluse these days. Nothing left for him to venture outside for, once _he_ came along…. I have never been sure of where Kirkland lives. You should find someone else to help you. I would recommend the Oracle Karpusi. He may be able to help you."

"And where can I find _him_?" Ivan raised an eyebrow at Francis' reaction.

"That is hard to say, as well. He moves around often. Perhaps someone else could help you?" He handed Ivan the mirror and smiled.

Ivan placed the mirror in his coat pocket and stood, wrapping the scarf around his neck tighter. "Thank you, Mister Bonnefoy. I'll be going now." Francis smiled at him and gestured at the blond near them.

"Matthew, please show our guest to the door. Good day, Ivan Braginsky. Please tell the Oracle that I said hello when you find him."

"Yes, Monsieur," Matthew leads Ivan from the dining room. "This way, sir," he led him down more hallways until the massive front doors were reached once more, opened them, and stood to the side to let him through. "Good day."

Ivan nodded at him and walked through the doorway. When he had exited the estate all together, he pulled the mirror from his pocket and looked down at the surface, calling the name, "Yao!" An irritated, drowsy face faded into view.

"What, aru? I was sleeping," he snapped, glaring at Ivan.

Ivan chuckled at Yao's sleepiness. "Arthur Kirkland sealed you in this mirror. Bonnefoy tells us that we should find an Oracle. Karpusi, he called him." When he said this, Yao became alert.

"Kirkland! I knew he would do something like this one day, aru!" he growled, glaring angrily. "Bah! An Oracle's help? There are always conditions for them, aru…always conditions! They won't tell you a thing if it's up to their gods, aru!"

"It seems to be the only way though, Yao. Let's just try it," he tried to calm the angry dark-haired male. Yao took a deep breath and shut his eyes.

"Fine. If it's the only way, aru," Yao agreed, and Ivan smiled at him with approval. "I'll track this Oracle down and get us there. Just give me a bit." Ivan nodded and tucked the mirror into his coat pocket, adjusting the strap of his bag. He took his time taking in the sights, and when an hour or two passed, Yao's voice came from his pocket. "Okay! I found him, aru. It's time to leave, aru." Ivan took hold of the handle on the mirror and felt himself being lifted from the ground, churned and battered by foreign winds.

"He's gone, Monsieur." Matthew murmured, sitting across from his master at a small coffee table. He had been picking at his pancakes, really, but he hadn't been feeling well. "I felt his presence fade."

"Very good, Matthew," Francis complimented the Canadian, his smile wide and charming. "Your sensitivity is coming along smoothly…I am sure that by the time you are twenty, you will be able to identify anyone's patterns just as well as I can. But please, Matthew, remember that you have been given the privilege of calling me Francis, _non_?"

"Y-Yes…Francis," he blushed slightly. "But something troubles me…."

"And what would that be, _mon amour_?"

"I felt very strong magic take Ivan from the estate…strong ancient magic. It was…it was Wang Yao's! But…" Francis brought a finger to Matthew's lips.

"Shh," he soothed, pulling away from the darker blond. "All things are possible, Matthew. Keep your mind open, and answers can be found." He placed his hand atop Matthew's own and placed a kiss on his cheek. "Let us hope both Ivan Braginsky and Wang Yao find the Oracle." Matthew nodded in agreement and followed Francis off into the various hallways of their home, wishing both of them luck on the hunt ahead.


	3. The Oracle

Sumina

-chapter three-

The Oracle

**A/N:** Chapter Three! We'll now be adding a new member to the group of Ivan and mirror (Yao). This chapter will be a little shorter than the last two, as not much goes on. Next chapter? Well, let's just say you'll get a glimpse into some family situations… Also, what do you guys think of there being some omakes? I updated early this week just because this is a ridiculously short chapter, and I'd rather not give you just this chapter all week. So you'll all get two chapters this week! Pretty soon we'll be getting back into present-day time. Anyhow, enjoy!

Also, no apparent pairings in this chapter.

**Rating:** T, for violence, coarse language and gruesome images. I know you guys haven't seen any of that yet, but it'll get pretty violent very fast.

---

He was in an astonishingly different place. Waterfalls flowed to his left and right, crashing against the large, pointed rocks that spiked up and blocked out most of the spray. Above him, it was foggy. Light barely poured down into the murky space. He looked down at the mirror and wiped it clean of the mist that fogged it up. "Yao, where is this?" Ivan moved the mirror about the cavernous hole and turned it back to himself.

"It seems to be some sort of…cavern or hole underground. The Oracle should be here though, aru," he explained, closing his eyes. "Ah, right in front of you, aru." Ivan looked ahead of himself. All that met his gaze was a roaring waterfall.

"…Are you sure?" He asked. Yao rolled his eyes.

"Yes, I'm sure, aru. Now go on – he's just ahead. Trust me."

Ivan walked towards the waterfall and looked up at it. It towered up further than he could see. He then looked down. Large, sharp rocks jutted from the ground. He swallowed. "Yao, you had _better_ be right." He backed up, took off at a run, and jumped. When he landed, he fell on the hard rocks, the wind knocked from his chest. It wasn't all that bright of an idea to land on one's belly, now was it?

As he stood, he found that he was not wet at all; in fact, he was completely dry. His brows drew together, thoroughly puzzled. "…Wha…?" Yao hushed him.

"The stones would raise and the waterfall would part, if you would have just _walked forward_, Ivan." Ivan growled angrily.

"Well, you should have told me sooner!" Looking around himself, he found that the cavern behind the waterfall was lit with countless candles, flickering gently in the darkness. And at the back of the cavern were rich Grecian blue drapes, decorated with white wave patterns, hung up on wooden racks across the cavern, drawn shut behind the raised slab of rock. Atop the rock was a woven golden fleece with numerous colors and patterns. But atop this sat the most important thing—a rich brown-haired man, his eyes shut, with lightly tanned skin, wearing a loose white cotton shirt and dark brown pants. His hair looked to have not been brushed in days; a double-curled strand stood up on the top of his head. Whatever the man was doing, he was entirely silent. No motion came from his body, no sound…nothing. He simply sat there, as if concentrating....

Ivan made up his mind to speak up. "Hello?" No response. He stepped closer, waving his hand in front of the man's face. "Hello? Are you the Oracle Karpusi?" All was silent for a long time. Just as Ivan backed away to leave, a million curses on his mind, a thoughtful, lazy voice cut through the silence.

"I am he. Heracles Karpusi, that is. The Oracle. Francis Bonnefoy sent you. You are looking for the residence of Arthur Kirkland, mysterious wizard of the mist. Welcome to my hideaway, Ivan Braginsky and Wang Yao." Ivan turned around, narrowing his eyes.

"And you know this because you saw this all in a vision?" The man hummed.

"Yes, that is the answer." He opened his eyes slowly, revealing brilliant green orbs, gleaming in the darkness like a cat's. "Now I wonder why it is that you think I may tell you such a thing. The Gods have not put me at liberty to disclose such information to you…yet." Ivan heard Yao growl angrily.

"Conditions, I assume?" Ivan stepped forward, pulling his pipe from his side and putting the mirror in his pocket. "And why is it that you need to hide?"

Heracles looked directly at him, unafraid despite the menacing Russian heading towards him. "And why is it that _you_ need to hide, Ivan Braginsky? Why do you hide from your past? You have the strength to overcome it." Ivan froze in his tracks. Memories flooded the gates he built around them; painful memories that made him quiver and shake.

"Shut up, shut up!" He screamed, running towards the Oracle and raising his pipe to strike.

"Now that would do you no good, Ivan Braginsky. Without me, you have nowhere to go. Lost…you would be lost with no direction without the guidance of my Gods." He was calm despite the Russian's pipe raised just above his head. Ivan panted, dropped the pipe to his side, and turned away.

"…Very well," Ivan hissed, attempting to control his burning anger. "What do we do now then, Oracle?"

Heracles stood. He walked about the cavern, blew the candles out. When he finished, he walked back over to the pedestal and sat upon it once again, staring off into the distance. "We wait."

It was several hours before Heracles woke from his vision. His pupils returned to normal size, and he shook his head slightly. "We must find someone in order to continue. This someone will be of assistance in the future…" He trailed off slowly.

"And who is this someone?" Ivan tapped his foot impatiently.

"Dark hair, dark eyes, fair skin...a gentle beauty of old; we should leave immediately." Heracles stood again, wrapping the fleece around his waist and grabbing a bag from behind the pedestal. Ivan pulled the mirror from his pocket and called out for Yao, who looked at him curiously.

"What now, aru?" He asked. Ivan explained that they had to find someone first, and that the Oracle would come along with them. Yao sighed. "Alright then, aru – hand the mirror to the Oracle, and then have him picture the place in his mind. Hold on to him, or you won't be able to come along, aru." Ivan did as he was told, grabbing onto the Oracle's arm. When Heracles closed his eyes and put the place that he saw in his mind, the two were twirled and whisked away from the cavern to a world of exotic smells and foreign sights.


	4. I'm Home

Sumina

-chapter four-

I'm Home

**A/N:** Now we'll be adding another, completing the group! Enjoy Chapter Four, guys!

EDIT: Someone corrected me on a little mistake of mine. Thank you very much, Idiotichobo! You're the smart one in this situation, it would seem (I'm not very well-informed on Asian languages, unfortunately - my focuses are always on Europe in language, so the only languages I'm slightly adept in are German and Russian). I had to delete the chapter, then post it again, in case you were wondering. Mistakes are something I just hate leaving there....

**Rating:** T, for violence, coarse language and gruesome images. Which I do promise will show up very soon, for those of you who may be wondering what I'm referring to.

---

It was a warm, humid place even though the sun hid behind the clouds. Ivan looked about in wonder as he adjusted the scarf on his neck. He could already feel sweat beading down his forehead. Heracles rolled his sleeves up and showed the surrounding area to Yao. The gasp that the mirror emitted had Ivan grabbing it from the Oracle's hands. Yao—who looked ragged and worn out—was nearly in tears. "This is…!"

"Your home, Wang Yao; that it is," Heracles spoke, turning towards the sprawling mansion in the distance, "The person we are looking for is within."

Ivan looked towards the home with wonder. "You lived there, Yao?"

"I did, aru. Oh, if only," he closed his eyes and trembled, lip quivering, before he collapsed. "…I'm so tired, aru."

"Rest then, Yao. We can do this without you," Ivan frowned before placing the mirror in his coat pocket. The Oracle and the Russian made their way to the former residence of Wang Yao, towards the door and rang the doorbell, sitting back and waiting. When the door was opened, a pretty young girl with long dark hair answered.

"Hello. May I ask what your business is here?" She blinked once or twice, frowning curiously.

Heracles was the first to speak up. "We are here on important business. May I ask to speak with the head of the household?"

She nodded gently. "Of course; follow me, please." The young girl instructed them to take their shoes off at the entrance and led them to an open room with wicker-backed love seats around an oval coffee table, windows around all sides. She sat them on one love seat and wandered off, probably to find the head of the household. As she left, a dark-haired boy with a bouncy curl atop his head bounded in, sitting down across from them.

"Hey, strangers! What'cha here for?" He swung his arms excitedly.

"It is not the time for you to know, or for either of us to speak it," Heracles responded, and the boy pouted in response.

"Well, that's just not fair!" He kicked his legs and swung his arms. Another male walked into the room, his eyebrows a little thicker and his hair a little lighter. He looked slightly irritated with the boy.

"Yong Soo, leave our guests alone!" He sat next to the Korean boy and turned his attention to the two across from him. "I apologize on his behalf. He's very…excitable."

"Oh, be quiet! You're no fun," Yong Soo stuck his tongue out at the boy next to him. The two bickered and fought with one another for quite some time, the Korean getting louder and louder, while the boy from Hong Kong remained calm – for the most part.

"Im Yong Soo!" The Korean froze immediately.

"I was just talking with our guests like a good host!" Yong Soo huffed when he was given a disbelieving look; he hopped up and wandered off, the other male trotting off after him. A black-haired male with dark brown eyes walked into the room, bowing before sitting down on the abandoned loveseat.

"_Sumimasen_," he murmured. Heracles shook his head.

"No, don't worry about it. However, there is something you _should_ worry about." His eyes became a dark olive green. "There is something we must discuss, Honda Kiku."

The Japanese male's eyes widened. "Ah! H-How did you know my name?!"

"He is an oracle," Ivan ducked his head slightly. "And this is extremely important. You have to help."

"My Gods have told me that it is time balance is restored to the world once more. A powerful being has thrown us off course. We must act before it is too late—two siblings from the east, a man of the cold, and one who sees the future. All we are missing is the second magic-capable sibling…you."

Kiku's eyes were wider than before. He looked afraid. "Th-That's…no. It's impossible that I'm the only one left! It can't be me! I…I'm the only one left in my family that can use magic!" He begins to stand, and Ivan cannot blame him for being surprised. Heracles and Ivan both meet his actions.

"You _must_! I didn't find out until this until just now, so listen!" Ivan glowered down at the short male across from him.

"He is right," Heracles' voice was still serene. "Do this for your brother, at the least."

This stops Kiku instantly. He sits again, and the two follow suit. Shakily, Kiku begins, "B-But that's…no…Yao is dead! He left to find our parents and never came back! He left me…this!" He gestured around the room wildly while tears streaked down his cheeks. Heracles seemed to fall into a trance.

"You were all adopted by a young couple. They took you in and raised you in this very home. Yao was their biological son. When they disappeared one day, you were told they were dead. And Yao took over as head of the household. One day, Yao told you he was leaving to find any sign of your parent's death. He never returned, and you took over as head of the household," The oracle murmured, speaking up for the next portion of his speech, breaking his trance-like stare. "It is unfortunate, I know, Kiku. But you must understand that this is beyond your control. Without you, your brother will receive no help, and your future will be at stake. Without you, our task will be incomplete, and the world will spiral down into destruction." He stood and sat down next to Kiku, rolled down a sleeve and dabbed the tears away from the Japanese man's young face.

"…Proof. Please," he choked, tripping over his words. "I'll help only if there's proof that Yao is alive." Heracles turned towards Ivan, who pulled the mirror from his coat.

"Yao," Ivan called. There was no vocal response, but the dark-haired male's body was shown lying down, fast asleep, his hair falling over his shoulders and arms. Ivan handed the mirror to Kiku.

"O-Oh," he cried, fresh tears breaking free from his dark eyes and rolling down his face once again. Heracles' efforts to dry them were fruitless, but he tried despite the fact. "Yao!" he called out for his brother. "Yao!" No matter how hard he called, Yao would not hear. He was fast asleep, exhaustion beaten him down.

Ivan took the mirror back after the Japanese male had his fill of trying to call out for his brother and bawling. "So you will help us now, yes?" He asked. Kiku was silent for a long while.

"...I will help," he agreed, nodding slightly. "Tomorrow, when I've gotten some rest, we may leave." He sniffled, standing up. His guests mimicked his actions and followed him down a few hallways, where they were gestured into two rooms right across from one another. Ivan's was on the left, while Heracles' was on the right. "Sleep well. My room is just down the hallway if you need anything." Kiku walked down the hall and into his room, rubbing at his eyes all the while, tiny whimpers echoing against the open halls. Heracles mumbled a good-night to Ivan before disappearing into his designated room.

When Ivan opened the door to his room and looked about, he noted everything. The room was beautiful, yet simple. Far simpler than the room Francis had given him, which he was thankful for. A bed low to the ground on a dark-wooded bed stand was placed in the center of the room. Towards the back were a set of matching dark-wooded tables, on which stood jade vases filled with stalks of thin bamboo. A set of sliding doors made the painted wall on the back. When Ivan opened them, he found that they led into an attractive garden with overhanging trees, and the sound of a running waterfall dropping down into a large koi pond. Too tired to worry about wandering about the exotic garden, Ivan yawned and stripped down, putting on a yukata that had been left in the room. He slid under the rich red covers, falling asleep slowly, with dreams of his birthday that made his blood run cold on his mind.

He woke with a start, sweat pouring from his body. Ivan looked about the room. Dark. So it was still night. For some reason, he felt compelled to stand. His feet led him through the door, down the hallway, and the room next to his own on the left side of the hall. An elegant and beautiful room met his eyes. Numerous plants were set on tables and stands set off to the sides, bookshelves ran straight up to the ceiling, and gold inlays surrounded every bit of the decorative carvings on the ceiling. An alcove to the left with its red silk curtains drawn open grabbed his attention. Within was a plush bed. The front of the room had its doors to the garden opened, with the moon's light shining in on the room. Everything, he noticed, was covered in dust. So lost in his sight-seeing, he did not hear Kiku enter the room.

"I see that you found Yao's room," he piped up. Ivan spun around, ready to strike out, but calmed when he noticed who his guest was.

"So this is his room," he turns to look around it once more.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" Kiku's question elicited a nod from the Russian. "Yao had always liked his room. He often said it was grander than the Emperor's palace." He laughed sadly, shaking his head.

"You left the doors open." Ivan turned to look at Kiku, who nodded.

"Yes," his voice is heavy, sad…he sounded like he was ridiculing himself. "I keep them open in hopes that one of these days he'll come back to his room. Foolish, I know – but I do it anyways."

"No…not foolish," Ivan shook his head. "Just hopeful."

Kiku rubbed his eyes and laughed. "Aren't foolish and hopeful the same thing?" Ivan smiled and laughed a bit in response.

"They can be. But not always," he nodded. "Sometimes there's a difference in hoping for something to happen and just being a damn fool." Kiku hummed slightly in response. The two fell silent for some time before the shorter male spoke again.

"Could you not sleep?"

Ivan nodded slightly. "Yes. I woke myself up—it seems something took me to the room."

"I believe the same thing happened to me tonight as well, um…"

"Ivan Braginsky," he responded. Kiku bowed.

"Braginsky-san; I believe this was fated to happen."

"It might have been," Ivan shrugged. "Or maybe it's just a coincidence."

"Hm…well," Kiku began "regardless, I am going to return to bed. Goodnight, Braginsky-san." Kiku walked from Yao's room and down the hallway, entering his own room, and left Ivan to look about Yao's room alone.

He found that Yao had many books on astronomy and rituals. Most were written in Mandarin, some in Japanese, all from places Yao had been, no doubt—not an ounce of which he understood. There was a book, however, written in Russian. He was thankful for the Cyrillic cover, but decided against touching the dusty tome. Weariness overtook him once more, and the Russian left Yao's room for his own, settling down in the plush bed and dreaming dreams of Natalia and home, cold sweat breaking from his body and falling onto the sheets below him. All night he had dreamt of dark reminders of his past, and all night he wished he had no dreams at all.

_Happy birthday, brother!_

The morning turned out to be salvation for Ivan. He stumbled from his room, into the hallway and down the long corridor, rubbing his eyes all the while, dark circles under his eyes. Sleep left him last night, and he yawned tiredly. As it turned out, the bright-eyed Greek had still been sleeping. Kiku passed Ivan in the halls, bowed and wished him a good morning, and then walked into the room the Greek man was lent.

Rolled up in the covers comfortably, Heracles had slept soundly, his eyelids sealed shut. Kiku sighed gently and looked upon the man, wondering how he could sleep so early in the morning, with everyone roaming about. The black-haired male noted every feature of his guest, from the smooth olive skin and the rich brown hair, down to the slightly muscular build.... 'He really is attractive,' he mused, but shook such thoughts from his head. Soon afterwards, he shook the Greek man's shoulder and woke him, "Karpusi-san, wake up, please. It is time for breakfast." Heracles opened his eyes slowly, looking directly at Kiku. The black-haired man felt himself stiffen, cheeks coloring gently.

"Mm," he hummed, crawling from the bed and stretching. "Thank you." Kiku pressed his lips together in a thin line and murmured 'you're welcome'. The two stood and walked outside the door into the hallway, where Ivan was waiting, tired and worn from poor sleep.

"Ah, Braginsky-san," Kiku frowned. "You look tired. Was the room I gave you not to your liking?"

"No. It's my own fault," Ivan mumbled "I just can't seem to sleep well lately."

They walked down the halls and into the dining room, sat on the floor around a low table, and ate a light meal, talking very little. Once they had finished, they returned to their rooms to dress. Behind the wooden door Ivan pulled the mirror from his coat pocket and called out for Yao. The tired, ragged ancient opened his eyes slowly and gazed at him with a questioning look.

"Wha…what is it, aru?" Ivan smiled a bit.

"I just wanted to make sure you were okay."

"Well, I'm tired, aru. I'm going back to sleep," Yao's image flickered and faded away. Ivan tucked the mirror back into his pocket, slung his bag over his shoulder, and walked into the hall, where both Heracles and Kiku were waiting for him. They stood across from one another, speaking gently. Ivan cleared his throat, gained their attention. Kiku turned slightly.

"Ah! Braginsky-san," he began "Please, wait outside for me with Karpusi-san. I will be out in just a moment." Heracles nodded, walked away briskly, and chauffeured him from the home. When he was sure they were gone, he ran down the halls, into Yong Soo's room. There, he left a note with his shaking hands upon his bed, backed up, and raced outside, walking only when he reached the stairs. "Where are we going then, Braginsky-san?"

"We will be heading for the British Isles; England, to be precise. A town by the name of London," Heracles responded, despite the fact that the question was aimed at Ivan. Kiku nodded gently, grabbed both of their arms, and closed his eyes.

"Then we will be leaving now…please, hang on," he murmured. The group was churned and lifted off the ground, away from the home of Wang Yao and Honda Kiku, to a rainy, crowded city. Ivan remembered Kiku being tired—he remembered Heracles hoisting him up on his back and carrying him, despite the smaller male's protests; he remembered several months with no leads, until they stumbled upon Feliciano Vargas in one of Heracles' visions. He remembered tracking him down and scaring information from him, returning to the room knowing where to go. And he remembered the plain, small room, how Heracles stared out the window as if in a trance, and Kiku sat on the bed, watching Heracles with interest. His mind then fell into darkness.


	5. Omake One: Frozen

Sumina

-omake one-

Frozen

**A/N:** This is the first of the omakes. I hope you guys enjoy this one. It'll give you an idea about Ivan's childhood. I do enjoy writing back-stories, so that's what these omakes are going to revolve around. Enjoy guys!

_Yekaterina_ is Ukraine, in case you all were wondering – apparently this is her fandom name? I'm not quite sure.

Translations will be at the bottom of the page.

**Rating:** T, for violence, coarse language and gruesome images.

---

"Mama?" A tiny boy looked up at his mother. He held her hand with a powerful grip for someone his age.

A beautiful woman—he can barely remember her face, but he remembers the kind violet eyes that always looked directly into his own—smiles down at her son. "Yes, Solnyshko?"

"Will Papa ever come home?" As he says this, his mother's smile falters. She looks away, before putting her knees down on the snowy ground, taking both of her son's shoulders in her hands, and looking at him once more. They are at an equal height now.

"I don't know if Papa will ever come home, Solnyshko," she tries to smile, but her lips are quivering. "I don't know."

"Oh" and the small boy looks away and nods, as if accepting the fact.

His mother stands again, taking his hand with a comforting grip. He grips back tighter and strolls through the snow-laden field with his mother, back to their large estate in the outskirts of a small down, back to hell. The field had been quiet that day.

"Yekaterina! Yekaterina?" Their mother calls from the bottom step, pulling her coat and gloves on, wrapping the scarf tight to her neck. A blonde-haired girl trots down the stairs obediently. She is dressed simply, and her body has just begun to develop.

"Yes, Mama?" She tucks her arms behind her back and waits.

"Lyubimaya moya, please make dinner for Ivan and Natalia tonight. I won't be home until midnight," their mother heads towards the door, before she hears screaming. Instantly, she slides past Yekaterina and bounds up the stairs with the grace of an elk, taking long strides. She is up on the second floor of the manor in no time. When she opens the door to her only son's room, her suspicions are correct. "Natalia!" Instantly, she grabs the girl's wrist and pulls her away from Ivan, who has been shoved to the floor, terrified and sobbing. "What do you think you are doing, huh? How many times do I have to tell you, leave your braht alone!"

Natalia cries out, rips her wrist from her mother's grasp, and glares spitefully at her before shouting, "I wish Papa were still here!" She runs down the halls and slams the door to her room, no doubt locking it. With a sigh, their mother walks back into Ivan's room and picks up the crying child.

"Mama!" He throws his arms around her neck, his tears wetting the collar of her long coat. "M-Mama, s-she…she pushed me d-down, a-and, and—"

Before Ivan could finish, she tutted at her child and pet his hair, rubbed his back, soothed him, "Hush, Solnyshko, hush…" And she sang him a gentle song in her beautiful voice, rocked him back and forth until he smiled and calmed, sleepy. She put him down again and looked at the time, exclaiming quietly. "Now I must go, Solnyshko. Behave, and don't give Yekaterina a difficult time."

"I won't. I promise," he smiled sweetly up at his mother. She laughed a bit, kissed his forehead, and walked quietly down the stairs, closing the door gently behind her. Yekaterina had been watching her soothe Ivan the entire time.

It had been several hours since their mother had returned from the theater. Past midnight, Ivan noted. He watched the blizzard outside and shivered gently in sympathy. 'Recitals don't take this long, do they?' he wondered, looking rather puzzled. While he would like to stay up and wait for his mother, he grew tired and crawled into his bed, under the thick blankets, hoping she would return soon….

The next day, at breakfast, the blizzard had not died. He frowned. Was his mother stuck at the theater because of it? Turning to his siblings, he inched away slightly at the odd grin on Natalia's face. Yekaterina cleared the table and began cleaning the dishes. When she had finished, she sat down in the living room and began her knitting for the day, with Natalia following right after her to _pretend_ to do her knitting. Ivan wandered off, up into his room, so that he might stay away from her.

While he watched the blizzard outside, he thought he could hear a faint voice over the howling winds. A scream, he thought? A plea for help, he wondered? For all he knew, it could just be the tree-shaking winds playing a trick on his young ears. So he decided to go about his daily chores—as discreetly as possible—as usual.

Many more days passed, and still, their mother did not return. He could not be sure what had happened, but all that truly mattered was that his mother had not returned, and would not return. For many days, Ivan cried himself to sleep, the door locked, fearful of his younger sister. He would only come out for Yekaterina, who would set him on her lap as she knitted a light brown scarf, long, well-crafted. Ivan asked her about this, "Syestra?"

"Hm?" she hummed quietly as a response.

"Whose scarf is that? It's far too long for me or Natalia."

Yekaterina smiles sadly. "I had been knitting it for Papa to wear, before he died…now I suppose I'll give it to you when I'm done." Their father was a very tall man, Ivan knew this. He hoped that one day he would be as tall as his father had been.

"I'll wear it if you made it for me, Syestra," Ivan smiles up at Yekaterina, who smiles back at him and pats the top of his head. When he gets up to leave and retreats up the stairs, he sneaks a glance over at his older sister. Her smile is gone, and she looks utterly and horribly alone….

As he frowns and walks back up the stairs, Natalia gets in his way. He gasps and begins to back up, only to be grabbed by the back of his shirt collar, voice muffled by her hand covering his mouth, and dragged into his own room. When the door is shut and locked, Natalia grins at him. "You know why Papa is dead, right?"

"Papa left," Ivan's voice was quiet, wary. He began to back up, only for his back to hit the wall. He gulped. "Papa isn't dead."

Natalia laughed. A high-pitched laugh that sent chills up Ivan's spine. "No, Papa isn't dead! Mama killed him. Mama shot him when he came home from work. I even saw her! Then, I saw her bury his body…I followed her. Mama is a bad woman. She killed Papa."

Ivan's eyes widened. He didn't want to believe his sister, no. But things started connecting, making sense…their father drank often, and more often than naught, he and their mother would disappear into rooms for long intervals, and she would come out limping, bruised and scarred, bleeding..._ "Mama, what's wrong?" "N-nothing, Solnyshko, Mama's fine."_

"No, Mama would never do that! Natalia, stop lying!" But when he said this, she only laughed wickedly and continued on.

"Braht, of course Mama would! She's a bad woman. So the blizzard helped Papa out. She won't come home anymore, and now she won't get in our way, either!" Her voice was high and giddy. She broke into tiny fits of laughter that became a chorus of raging birds, screaming in his ears, ringing in his brain, drowned him in pure cacophony. Ivan hopped to his feet and ran from the room, pulling it open with enough strength to break the lock, dashed down the stairs as quickly as his tiny legs would carry him, and threw open the front door, rushing through it into the raging blizzard.

Ivan wandered in the blizzard despite the cold. He wandered in the field for hours, days, without food or drink, until he stumbled in the snow and fell face-first into it. When he brushed the snow from his wet shirt, he looked behind himself. A frozen woman. A frozen woman, identical to his own mother. "…Mama?!" Ivan crawled towards his mother, shook her desperately. No matter how many times he called, his mother would not wake up. No matter how many times he promised to make his bed when he woke up or practice his writing like he really meant it, his mother would not move, save for the slight jostling he gave her out of desperation.

He stayed outside the rest of that night. He refused to leave his mother in the snow. It was only when Yekaterina found him that he left his mother's side. Yekaterina dragged her half-frozen brother back home. That night, she had cried as often as her little brother had. Natalia only giggled.

Ivan would spring up in the next few years. His shoulders would broaden, his chest would fill out. He would become a tall, strong, handsome man. As soon as he was old enough, he gathered his things and left home, left his personal hell. Against the biting blizzard winds, he tucks the scarf close to his mouth and closes his eyes, leaving the past behind an iron gate on the arduous path to happiness.

---

Translation Notes:

(I've Romanized all of the Russian in this, in case you were all wondering. If anyone reading this can speak Russian, I'd like it very much if you could correct me on anything. I'm currently learning it myself, but there's no guarantee that it's correct—I'm an amateur, after all.)

Solnyshko—little sun

Mama—Affectionate form of mother, kind of like Mommy is short for Mother in English

Lyubimaya moya—my love (feminine)

Braht—brother

Syestra—sister

Papa—Affectionate form of father, kind of like Daddy is short for Father in English


	6. The Glass Tower

Sumina

-chapter five-

The Glass Tower

**A/N:** Hello again! Chapter Five, back to present-day! I hope you enjoy it, everyone.

But oh man...for you American (possibly Canadian, as many Canadians flock to my city's mall for Black Friday) readers, how was Black Friday? For those of you that may not know what I'm talking about, Black Friday is a day of great deals on Christmas gifts, but soo many people...it's horribly terrible in its own amazing way. At least once a year, someone gets trampled to death trying to get into a store. But that's only in big cities. I live in a fairly small town, so it's not terribly crowded at the mall. Every year, I go shopping on Black Friday, so that I might buy cheaper gifts for my family.

Does anyone who reads this _not_ celebrate/have Black Friday? I've always been curious if any other countries celebrate it, but I hate running the risk of sounding ignorant.

Well...back to Chapter Five! Enjoy (it's the longest so far)!

**Rating:** T, for violence, coarse language, and gruesome images…which should start in this very chapter—oh joy!

---

_"Brother? Brother! Brother, come out and play," Natalia called from within the halls of the big cold house. "Don't hide from me, brother! I just want to play!" He held his ragged breath as his sister entered their parents' room, quiet steps on the wooden flooring. Ivan's knees were drawn to his chest, with his back pressed against the wall. As Natalia passed by, he clamped a hand over his mouth to keep his quickened breathing from being detected. He shut his eyes tight, prayed to God his sister would not find him. 'Not today, please, not today…don't do this to me…'_

_Natalia seemed to hear his prayers, as he found that the doors had swung open abruptly, and Natalia screeched triumphantly, "There you are, Ivan! I love you so much…now please quit hiding from me so we can play." A pair of shearing scissors was held in her hands. Ivan's scream echoed through the halls._

"Braginsky-san," Kiku shook the Russian man's shoulder. He was jolted awake, standing from the chair immediately. Kiku startled and jumped back. "Braginsky-san…you were mumbling in your sleep. You looked troubled."

Ivan ignored his comments. "What time is it?"

"Three-thirty pm, Braginsky-san," Kiku murmured quietly just after speaking the time, "You had seemed so tired, I thought you might need to rest…"

Ivan walks over to the small closet in the small hallway, pulled his coat on and wrapped his scarf around his neck. "I'm leaving for the Glass Tower now," he put his bag over his shoulder. "Stay behind—you two won't want to see this."

"Wh-what do you mean, Braginsky-san?!" Kiku's question was answered with a dark smile and the sound of a door slamming. He sighed and plopped down on a bed, rubbing at his face. "Oh, Braginsky-san, I hope you do nothing too reckless." Heracles sat next to him on the bed, smiling at him and leaning down to press his forehead against the smaller male's.

"Yes, but this _does_ give us some time alone," Heracles murmured against the shell of Kiku's ear, running the tip of his tongue over it, nipping once, teasing him. Kiku whimpered, struggling slightly until he slipped away from the Greek man's grasp, sitting on the other side of the bed.

"H-Heracles-san! That's—" Kiku gasped as he was hoisted onto Heracles' lap and held against his chest; Heracles buried his nose in Kiku's hair and inhaled the gentle scent of cherry blossoms.

"Sh," Heracles rocked back and forth, soothing the nerves of the smaller male in his lap. "Nothing too far, nothing too risky, if it makes you comfortable," he murmurs against the back of his neck. Kiku finds himself at ease again, even as Heracles begins to tell a tale. "You know…long ago, I went to the place you lived in. My father took me there…he knew your parents very well. I remember a young boy they had just adopted…a young boy with black hair and dark brown eyes, whose reclusive nature made it very difficult to talk to him. He hid from me, but when I got him out, he and I became close friends…and we promised we'd remember one another when I was led away. I remember that boy…."

Kiku hummed, memories of his home in the past fogging his thoughts. "I do remember…an older boy with light brown hair and bright green eyes," he closed his eyes and leaned his head back against Heracles' shoulder. "He was very fond of cats; they trailed behind him when we went into town. And when he left, the cats all lined up and watched him go." He opened his eyes to look up at Heracles. "…Heracles?" He stroked his cheek, down his chin, resting his hand on his chest. "That was you, wasn't it?"

"Mm," Heracles kissed Kiku's scalp. "Yes, it was. And now, look at this." He takes Kiku's hand and laces their fingers together. "We've found one another, it seems. On nights where I have dreams of my own, I often dream of you and feel as if I'm seeing the future."

"What do you see?" Kiku was curious. He drew his dark brows together and looked up at Heracles, cheeks tinged a gentle pink.

"I see you smiling," he looked down at Kiku and kissed his forehead. "And I see the sun," he kissed the bridge of Kiku's nose, "and smell warm scents," he kissed the very tip of Kiku's nose, "and I feel you in my arms." He spun Kiku around in his lap and kissed his lips, holding him close, reveling in his warmth, enjoying the comfort shared between the two.

___

Ivan wandered down the path that led to the tower in the distance. He was no more than a half-hour away from reaching it, no less than fifteen minutes; he decided to bide the time by pulling the mirror from his pocket. "Yao," he called. The feminine male's face came into view.

"Yes, Ivan?" Yao smiled gently at him. "I can't believe this is all almost over, aru! Soon, I can return home, aru."

Ivan swallowed around the lump forming in his throat. He nodded and smiled as best as he could. "Yes," he spoke in a voice quieter than what he had intended.

"Oh, don't worry, aru! I'll keep in touch with you," Yao reassured. Ivan nodded once more in an attempt to ignore his own emotions building up in his chest. A great weight settled down there, choking him, stinging his eyes. Was this disappointment? Ivan knew he wanted more than what the Chinese male did. He wanted to see Wang Yao every day, wanted to hold him tight and keep him with him at all times. But deep within his heart, Ivan knew these wishes should be ignored. None would come to fruition. The two wanted different things.

"If you say so, Yao," he whispered. As he had dwelled upon his thoughts, the tower was no more than twelve yards ahead of him. Ivan picked up his pace and inspected the doors. "Do I just open it?"

Yao closed his eyes. The mirror shook slightly. "…Go ahead. There's no spell on it that I can detect, so it should be safe, aru. The only magic in the vicinity seems to be coming from the very top."

"Then let's go," Ivan grinned as he opened the door, shut it behind himself, and began his long trek up the stairs. Yao told him which rooms to pass, and which to go through in order to reach their goal. When they reached the final room, Ivan tucked the mirror away. "You don't have to see this." And he kicked the door open so hard that its hinges bent and snapped.

"Blood hell," the man across the room turned about. He had short, messy dirty blond hair and rich emerald-green eyes. Perhaps the most startling feature was his obvious eyebrows; they hung above his eyes on his forehead like two menacing, fat wooly mammoth caterpillars (while caterpillars themselves do not look intimidating, these were his _eyebrows_). His voice had a gentle accent to it. While his words were harsh, they had an even smoothness to them. "What in the seven seas are you doing here, you, you—"

"Save your breath, Kirkland," Ivan's grin widened. It had not once left his face. "You'll need it very soon." A barrier formed around his body—he assumed this was the work of Yao—as he advanced upon the British man, eyes narrowed. When Arthur Kirkland attempted to cast a spell and found it deflected, his eyes went wide. He attempted to back away from the Russian, who just continued to walk forward, slowly, very slowly, taking his time…and when he was upon him, Arthur felt a blunt object hit him square in the gut. With a grunt, he crumpled to the floor, holding his stomach and groaning loudly. Ivan had his fun; he brought the pipe down on Arthur again and again and again, until blood spattered up and onto his face, staining his coat and his scarf and his hair and his skin—he felt all his pent-up rage, all the frustrations of sleepless nights, all his longing for things he would never get all leave his body. He did not stop until the helpless cries of Arthur Kirkland had become more ragged and breathy, spat out more difficultly.

"P-Please," Arthur wheezed, attempting to crawl away. Ivan kicked him in the ribs and grabbed him by his hair, tugging him back. He heard the Englishman scream weakly, struggling only slightly. "Please! Oh God, what do you want?!"

"I want you to suffer for the terrible things you've caused. You sealed an innocent man into a mirror—and I am here to make you suffer!" Ivan glared down at him.

"Yao! Wang Yao!" Arthur rasped out. "Yao! I—I sealed him away in that mi-irror, t-to protect him! He was a hunted man! He came to me! He knew the consequences! O-Oh God, please! Please, stop!"

Ivan raised his pipe to strike once more. "It's far too late for excuses, Arthur. Come, time to die."

"Wait!" The mirror rattled. Ivan dropped his pipe and pulled the mirror from his pocket. "Ivan, don't kill him, aru. One, we'll need him to free me. And two…he may be telling the truth. Now pick him up and I'll take us back, aru." With a sigh, Ivan grabbed Arthur by the back of his collar and hoisted him over his shoulder. When he shut his eyes, he felt himself being lifted from the ground and whipped by the winds. As he opened them, he was back in the small hotel room once more.

Ivan walked down the short hall, passed by the bedroom, and put Arthur down on the seat of the toilet. "Wait right there, Kirkland." He got a weak groan in response. The Russian walked from the bathroom into the bedroom, looking at the two beds. Kiku shared a bed with Heracles, pulled into his embrace, sleeping soundly in his arms. He looked at them curiously. 'Since when had these two gotten so close?' Perhaps it was when he was gone that they had bonded. It had been several months, after all. He shook the two awake. Kiku yawned, stretched, and blinked, looking up at Ivan sleepily.

"Mm, welcome back, Braginsky-san," he rubbed at his eyes. As if suddenly aware of whom it was, Kiku jumped. "B-Braginsky-san! …Is that blood?"

"Unimportant. Come on, now—I need you clean someone up for me." Kiku stood, pensive, but followed him to the bathroom. Upon seeing Arthur Kirkland's state, he gasped.

"What did you do to him, Braginsky-san?!"

"Just clean him up, Kiku," Ivan walked back into the bedroom and sat in his chair, looking over at Heracles. He looked at Ivan thoughtfully.

"He tells the truth. All that he said to you in the tower is true. He will explain all once he recovers from the brutal beating you decided to give him." Heracles stood from the bed and stretched.

It was several hours before Kiku returned from the bathroom with a fully-healed (for the most part; gauze was wrapped about his head, and his breathing was still extremely weak) Arthur in tow. He sat him down on one bed and settled down on the one across from it next to Heracles, a small gap between them. Ivan glowered at the Englishman. "Explain how this came about." Arthur cleared his throat, glaring right back.

"For one, you have to understand the balance issue with the world right now. It's extremely unstable…I can feel it getting worse every day. The cause?—Animus, tormentor of every country, once the enforcer of the law of the land. All people are born with something special about them. For example, there is your ability to survive in any environment; or the Oracle's ability to see the future. Animus was born with the ability to steal the special attributes of others. This would kill them, but he cared very little. By doing so, he became powerful. He is _still_ powerful. He plucks children from the streets of every town and takes them away, one by one," his voice is thicker, weighed down in sorrow. "I've seen it myself. He searches only for those with the most useful of abilities. I have managed to keep myself a secret from him, but I fear he'll catch on soon…the same happened to Wang Yao. Animus discovered his unique abilities in magic and desired them for his own. He needed to hide—and so he came to me. We consulted Heracles, who told us to place Yao inside an object and send him away to you. I did just that. I sealed him in a mirror and had him delivered to you. The spell had its drawbacks, however – Yao was not to remember how and why he was placed in the mirror."

Heracles stood after Arthur finished. "And now that we are together, we will find the cure to this imbalance of power. I saw what we are searching for in a dream once."

Ivan's glower deepened. "Now wait just a minute! Kirkland, remove Yao from the mirror at once!"

Arthur chuckled bitterly. "I wish I could…but the only one capable of freeing him at this point is long gone."

"What?!" Ivan grabbed him by the collar of his suit, gave him a look of pure and utter hatred. "You're lucky, wizard, or I would have killed you long ago."

"Please, Braginsky-san, leave Kirkland-san alone! He needs his rest!" Kiku chided, pushing the Russian away from the injured Brit.

Silence fell over the room. Arthur closed his eyes as he spoke, "Take me with you."

"And why should we do that," Ivan snapped. Arthur's eyes opened immediately.

"I have my own reasons for wanting to go! All I ask is that I come along—I'll be of use," Arthur snarls, glaring back at the towering Russian.

"You must come along," Heracles nodded his head. "It is as my Gods have told me." Arthur smirked victoriously, while Ivan snarled. Kiku sighed, shook his head, and laid it down on Heracles' shoulder. He could tell this would be extremely stressful already. With a growl, Ivan stormed from the bedroom and into the bathroom, blank white walls surrounding him. From his pocket he pulled the mirror, called out for Yao.

"It would seem that he's telling the truth," he hissed. "And…he says he cannot help you now."

Yao shook like a leaf. Hot tears welled in his eyes, and his voice quivered. "Y-You mean…I'm stuck?" He choked and gasped. Ivan watched helplessly as the dark-haired man sobbed and whimpered, wishing for the entire world that he could offer some form of comfort.

All through the night Yao cried. Not once did he stop his heart-breaking cries—cries that Ivan heard even as he slept. They mixed with his dreams of home, dreams of Natalia showing up on his doorstep on the anniversary of his acceptance into his family.

Kiku spent the night watching Heracles. The Oracle's eyes were shut, but he saw the distant world of the future in his sleep. He pets his hair, smiled when the Oracle would twitch.

_The moon raises high above the stronghold. A serpentine shadow slinks across the stone walls. It lolls its head back and makes a sound like shattering glass and the wails of a thousand children dying. "Ma…" _Heracles strained to keep this vision alive. _"Ma…lor…" _In the bed, he twitched. _"Ma…lor…us…"_

_"Malorus!"_

And in the second bed, all alone, Arthur dreamt.

_A boyish smile is tossed his way. He laughs and tousles the boy's hair, grinning happily. "Honestly! Be more careful next time," the blue-eyed boy laughs, feigns a pout, and swats his hand away._

_"Aw, don't be such a spoil-sport, Artie! I was just havin' a little fun!"_

_"Well, your fun is just a little dangerous," Arthur sees the boy roll his eyes._

_"It's not fun if it's not dangerous."_

_"Bah! Little git," he laughs, pushing the boy away from the cauldron, "A pain in my arse if I ever saw one."_

He remembered that night as a happy one – a rarity between both he and the blue-eyed boy. When he woke, it was before the others. He stood and began to walk about, looking among the faces. Heracles was staring at the ceiling blankly. Ivan's eyes were shut tight in pain. The mirror left on the desk near Ivan's chair leaked the sound of Yao weeping.

"Kirkland-san?" Kiku looked at him with concern.

"Ah, Kiku," Arthur turned to face Kiku, who stood in the hallway. "Any reason you're up?"

"I was just about to ask you the same thing," the shorter male responded, pressing his lips into a thin line. "I saw that you were smiling in your sleep. Did you have a good dream?"

"I did," Arthur smiled sullenly. "It's the only time I can smile anymore." Kiku frowned and gestured for him to follow—an order Arthur agreed to. The two sat side-by-side on the edge of Arthur's previously-abandoned bed.

"Why are you joining us, Kirkland-san? Ivan nearly killed you, after all."

"I…I'm searching for someone," Arthur answered "I lost him a long time ago. Three years, but it feels like a thousand…." He pulled a picture of a bespectacled blue-eyed boy, with tousled hair and long bangs. A small piece near his side-part stood up rebelliously. The boy was smiling. "Alfred. I took him in when his parents passed away." Arthur closed his eyes, clenched his teeth tight. "The last thing I told him before he was taken was 'Fuck you—I never want to see or hear from you again!' We had been fighting all afternoon. Funny how the only thing I want right now is to see or hear from him…"

Kiku pat his back in sympathy—an awkward gesture, but attempted comfort nonetheless. "I am sure you will see him again, Kirkland-san."

Arthur snorted, shaking his head. "It's unlikely. By now, he's probably dead. Animus doesn't spare those he takes from his avarice. I wish the bloody git died a hero—or at least painlessly." The Englishman stood and wandered off, down the tiny hall and through the white-washed door. Kiku watched him leave, heaved a heavy sigh, and lay back on the bed. When would he be able to see his own brother again? His mind could not recall if he'd said anything good or bad to Yao as he walked from their door. He prayed with all his heart that he had given kind words to the one trapped in the mirror now, and prayed with all his heart that he could see him alive and in person once again.


	7. Omake Two: Woodland

Sumina

-omake two-

Woodland

**A/N:** This is omake two! It's something I came up with very quickly. Hope you guys like it!

Also, I added in some explanation of how Francis and Matthew met, because I thought it would be a nice little thing to add in there.

This is the longest chapter I've written thus far. I should really learn how to flesh out chapters a little more than what I've got...

**Rating:** T, for violence, coarse language and gruesome images (I feel like I write this a lot).

---

When the sun peeked its red face high above in the sky, two men traveled into town. Two men traveled into town _arguing_. And rather loudly, too.

"You damn frog! Everywhere I go, you follow!" A young man with messy dirty blond hair glared at the other blond to his side. "Why can't you get your own job, for once?"

"Because, _Kirkland_," the young man next him had brilliant blue eyes and soft blond hair. His chin was smooth and bare. "I get these jobs _before_ you—after all, I have more talent—so it only makes sense that you end up wherever I go!"

Both were young, roughly seventeen. They seemed to be employed in the same field – magic. Their jobs were normally restricted to Europe, but on this occasion, they had been hired in a place entirely new to them. North America.

"Argh! Arsehole…I hope you get lost and die!"

"Well, I'm following your lead, so if I get lost and die, so will you," Francis smirked triumphantly. The Englishman's murderous green glare meant he had won.

As they bickered and argued, the townspeople stared at them and began to whisper amongst one another. They drew quite the crowd by the time they reached their client's address.

"Yes? Mister Kirkland and Mister Bonnefoy?" A servant poked her head out of the mayor's office.

"That would be us, ma'am," Arthur nodded gently at the servant.

Francis took her hand and kissed it, smiling suavely. "It is lovely to make your acquaintance, Madame."

The servant blushed, took her hand away and stammered, "R-Right this way, sir. Sir." The two followed her through the large home until they were outside the office. She knocked twice, called, "The two you requested are here to see you, sir" and wandered off down the halls to do her chores.

"Come in," called an earnest voice. Arthur turned the doorknob and began walking through the doorway at the same time as Francis. The two glared and fought over who would go in first, before the mayor cleared his throat. They froze, mumbled apologies, and went in one after the other—Arthur slid in front of Francis before he could get in the doorway, which put an indignant glare on the Frenchman's face. Smugly, Arthur took his seat when prompted in a hearty tone, "Sit, sit!" Francis glared at the green-eyed Englishman as he sank down into the chair next to his, crossing one leg over the other. Arthur's hands were in his lap.

"Now, Monsieur, what is it that you have asked me so far away from home for?" Francis asks, looking at him with a politely curious expression.

"Well, I asked the _both_ of you out here because we've been having some…troubles recently," the mayor frowns, deep wrinkles on his old face. "Attacks. Every night, someone is badly injured."

"What are the nature of these attacks, sir?" Arthur takes notes, while Francis simply watches the mayor carefully.

"W-Well, they're very peculiar. They happen only at night because…people wake up with these injuries."

Arthur and Francis both pause. "Excuse me, Monsieur?" Francis' expression is grave.

"People tell me that they dream, and in the dream, a wolf attacks them…the wolf is pure black with glowing yellow-green eyes and teeth that extend from the jaws." The mayor looks terrified and nervous.

"And how many deaths, sir?" Arthur is prepared to write the number down.

"Five. In the past month," the mayor adds as an afterthought.

Arthur writes every last bit down in his notepad. "Alright; I should be able to handle this very quickly, sir. You just relax and take it easy," he reassured, smiling a bit as the mayor let out a deep breath and sank back in his chair, relaxing.

"Thank you so much for your help, the both of you," the mayor stands to show them out of the house personally. One of his servants brings them to the local inn.

Inside their room (shared—Arthur complained about this non-stop), the two planned their paths of action. They argued the whole night through before falling into peaceful sleep when dawn came around yet again. By noon, Arthur was up, and dressed himself. Francis had left already. "Damn it," he cursed, pulling his shoes on. He grabbed his bag, slung it over his shoulder, and rushed out the door.

He ended up outside one of the victim's homes. It took quite a bit of convincing to let him in, but the woman stepped aside and showed Arthur to her husband. "Please, sir, may I see your wounds?" The man took off his shirt and exposed his back, littered in deep gashes that still bled, terribly infected, his neck and shoulders gnawed at, gaping holes in the shapes of a giant beast's jaws. Arthur did his best not to gag. "And how long has it been since the incident?"

"Two weeks," the feverish man pulled his shirt back on and lay down on his stomach. His wife wiped at his sweating forehead before escorting the Englishman back to the door. Once outside, she told him something odd.

"No matter how often the wounds are cleaned, the infection returns the next day, twice as bad," she tries her best not to cry. "I fear if this continues on much longer, my dear husband will die. Please, sir, you must do _something_!"

Arthur ducked his head, "I'll try, ma'am. Thank you for your cooperation." When the door closed, he turned on his heel and continued gathering evidence.

By the end of the day, he had gathered nothing that could lead him to a particular source. Any samples he gathered contained no traces of saliva, so he could assume the creature was not human, nor living in any way. But because there was no saliva, he could not trace the source back. He rubbed his face in frustration.

Francis came back with just as much frustration. He had found nothing more than Arthur had. The two argued as usual before falling asleep. Arthur was up before Francis this time. He dressed himself and left the room, intent on walking in the forest around town.

It was beautiful in the spring; he would give North American forests that. The air wasn't too hot, nor too cold—a slight chill that required only a jacket or undershirt. He wandered among them, touching the bark, admiring how some were smooth and others were rough. Arthur sighed as he sat on a rock near a stream, leaning against the tree behind it. 'I'll just close my eyes for a minute,' he thought, before drifting off to sleep.

_"Why are you here?!"_

______

Francis woke up later this time. With a chiding curse, he dressed himself and instantly rushed from the room when he had found his appearance adequate, into the forest. He wandered for quite some time, touching anything, closing his eyes once in a while in concentration. 'Perhaps,' he thought, 'I may find a trace of some form of magic.' Taking his time meant being comfortable. He set down a blanket and sat beneath a tree, closing his eyes.

It was several minutes before he opened them again. Something had caught his attention, which caught the throat in his breath. When he opened his eyes, a dazzling pair of azure-colored orbs met his own. Their owner jumped back and squeaked, shaking, ready to run off.

"Ah, wait," he called gently, standing and grabbing the small boy by the shoulders. "Don't run off now." Francis looked the nervous boy up and down. He wasn't dressed very well, and didn't appear to be well-fed, either. "What's your name?"

"M-Matthew," the small boy stuttered. "Matthew Williams."

"Well, Matthew," Francis smiled down at him. "It's wonderful to meet you. I am Francis Bonnefoy. Tell me…do you know what 'tracing' is?"

______

_"Why are you here?!" The voice boomed from all around him. A growl erupted from the trees, shook the leaves they held. Arthur felt himself unable to move, stuck in the same place, as a shadow circled around him in the trees._

_"I'm here to save townspeople. A wolf has been killing them in their dreams," he seemed to have control only over his voice. As soon as he spoke this, said wolf jumped from the trees, skidding to a halt in front of him. It snarled, white teeth stained yellow and rusted over with blood._

_"You have no right to save them from their fate! They are to suffer the consequences! Do you dare to stay, foreign-one?" The wolf snapped its jaws. Despite its teeth being so long, they did not pierce the flesh or draw blood._

_"I will not leave them," Arthur gasped. The air around him seemed to compress and tighten around his throat. No oxygen flowed through his lungs._

_"Enough! I have heard enough," the beast rocked back on its paws, snarling enough to show all of its massive teeth. "You lead the same fate as them!" With a massive roar, it surged forward, leaping at Arthur's throat, jaws wide open._

Arthur gasped and shot up from his position against the tree, breathing erratic, and heart beating wildly. When it was obvious no wolf had taken a bite from his throat, he calmed, clutching at his chest, eyes shut tight. And then, he heard a small yet big voice directly in front of him.

"Hey! Don't go back to sleep—I did all that work to wake you up!"

He shot up once more, eyes wide, several spells in mind, until he saw the owner of the voice. A small boy—no older than thirteen—with messy dark blond hair and sky blue eyes looked up at him with concern, pouting slightly. With relief, Arthur sank back down, rubbed his eyes, and muttered weakly, "_You_ woke me up? Well…how?"

"Simple!" The boy grinned cheerfully. "I shouted really loud!"

"Of course," Arthur smiled with a small amount of patience. "Are you from town?"

The boy looked down at the ground, shuffling his bare feet. "No…I live in the forest with my brother. We…we don't have anywhere else to go."

"You have a brother?" The boy nodded enthusiastically. "May I meet him?"

"Only if you promise me something," he looked up at Arthur enthusiastically.

"And what would this promise be?"

His face screwed up slightly. "Can you help us get something to eat tonight?"

Arthur raised an eyebrow, but stood, offering his hand to the small boy. "Of course," he promises with a steady smile, "Now show me your brother?"

The boy smiles brightly and takes the larger hand. "Okay!" He begins to tug him along. "I'm Alfred, by the way."

_____

When they found Matthew, they also found Francis. He was speaking to the boy under a tree, both eating small bits of food. It seemed Matthew was comfortable with him already. "Mattie!" Alfred ran up to Matthew, tugging at his shoulder. "Mattie, look! Another guy! And guess what? He promised he'd help us eat tonight!"

Matthew frowned slightly. "Monsieur Bonnefoy fed me already, though. It wouldn't be right to have two meals today if you only get one," He turned his attention to Arthur. "H-Hello."

"_Monsieur Bonnefoy?_ Bah," Arthur rolled his eyes. "Damn it, Bonnefoy, quit tricking innocent kids into being respectful of you!"

Alfred frowned. "What's going on…?"

"Nothing," Arthur glared at Francis, who smirked and flicked his hair behind his shoulder.

"Oui, nothing. I have just spoken with Matthew about the wolf in the townspeople's dreams." Francis crossed his arms, looking up at Arthur smugly.

"Oui," Matthew mimicked, looking up at Arthur. "That's the guardian of the forest. He doesn't like the townspeople."

"Why does he not like them?" Arthur pulled out his notebook once more.

"I don't know. They've left offerings lately just in case, but he always just gives them to us," Matthew explains quietly, fidgeting a bit.

When Arthur finished this small amount of information, Alfred jumped up, grabbed the notebook, and began to flip through it. "What's this?"

"Give that back!" Arthur grabbed at the notebook, but the nimble boy turned away in time, eyebrows scrunched together. When he found nothing interesting, he tossed it behind his back. It landed atop Arthur's head.

"Why'd you take notes for something like this? All you have to do is talk to the guardian," Alfred explained, nodding his head. "He listens well."

"Before he attacks you," Matthew added as an afterthought.

"Well, that's a comforting thought," Arthur muttered, tucking the notebook away. "And what should I tell him? Leave the villagers damn well alone, or else? I can't harm the forest guardian, or the forest itself will die."

"Ah, Arthur," Francis shook his head. "You are not very good with sweet talk, are you? You must _appeal_ to the guardian. It is the safest way, after all."

"And to dream with him in it, I'd need to know where he's headed tonight," Arthur glared at Francis, who still smirked.

"I-I could find him," Matthew murmurs. "I can tell where he's going."

"Ah, you will make a wonderful tracer one day, Matthew…with the right guidance, you could be excellent." Francis smiled kindly at the boy, who ducked his head, embarrassed by the amount of attention he was getting.

"Very well," Arthur huffed "then you'll have to lead me to him tonight."

______

Arthur lay down in the stranger's bed, attempting to sleep. The owners of the home had been understanding enough to give up their home for the night, if it meant saving their skins. Alfred sat not too far away, kicking his legs, keeping awake in order to rouse the Englishman, should the dream start to take a turn for the worst. Matthew and Francis were on the completely opposite side of the room. The Frenchman regaled Matthew with stories of his hometown and all of the jobs he'd ever taken on. Faintly, outside the window, a mother could be heard screaming for her daughter. _"Sweetie? Where are you?!"_

Sleep did not come to him. He finally decided that talking may be a good way to fall asleep, so he turned onto his side and looked directly at Alfred, "So are you and Matthew actually related?"

Alfred shook his head. "No…Matthew's from Canada. He wandered down here, and I made him my official brother. It's close enough," the boy explained, smiling.

"I see," he smiled a bit at the boy.

"Where're you from?" Alfred's eyes were bright, inquisitive.

"England. London, to be specific." Arthur nodded gently. "I have a residence further away from town where I conduct my studies, when I have no jobs to finish."

Somehow, Alfred's eyes widen. "Wooah! That's so cool!" Arthur laughed gently, shaking his head.

"Most people find that boring, you know," when he said this, Alfred tilted his head to the side.

"That's silly. I think that it's awesome to be able to conduct your own studies, like a scientist!" Alfred leaned forward, his face becoming more excited to Arthur's eyes.

"Well…like a scientist, I suppose," Arthur chuckled slightly. The boy was adorable, he'd admit.

"You should show me sometime, Arthur! That'd be so cool!"

Arthur yawned, eyes sliding shut. "One day, maybe…one day," and he fell into sleep, with Alfred watching him intently, like a guardian angel, eyes never straying.

_Children romped about the forest, through the dark trees, catching at fireflies. They laughed and romped and romped and laughed, heedless of others around them. Around them, ancient drums, invisible to most senses other than auditory, tapped their ancient beats, shook the ground in minor quakes that sent just pebbles up. The misty, dark forest spun all around him, it quaked, and it was enough to unnerve him. But his resolve was firm. He could not leave._

_"Heehee! A man! A man! Will he come and play with us?" A ghostly child swept past his side._

_"I hope he comes to play! He looks to be so much fun!" Another swept just above his head. He had to duck in order to avoid it._

_"Yes, all the adults linger on the Between," the child that danced around him and away huffed. "It's no fun without adults to play with us!"_

_They all began to chatter, loud and screaming, though they never really screamed—it was the wail of their dead voices beneath, the moaning cries of, "Help me!" and "I want to go home!" or "This is torture…" that shrieked beneath like a roaring whisper, ringing in his ears and shaking him down to his very marrows. Arthur began to shiver. Did they really think themselves to be happy? 'The guardian must force them to stay here after he kills them!' He shook his head. 'Repulsive. The creature is pathetic.'_

_"Not pathetic…willing to do whatever it takes to convince those poor fools in town to stop encroaching upon my land!" It was then that Arthur became aware of the rasping sound, low towards the ground. He identified it quickly._

_"No…you wouldn't __**dare**__ to bring an innocent child into your Realm!" Arthur clenched his teeth. "You fool! She could be stuck here permanently! She will no longer age, nor die, nor be able to quench her thirst or hunger! What have you done?!"_

_"I have done what is necessary," the beast explains, growling low in its throat. "They will all understand now."_

_"What does taking a young, innocent girl from her mother have to do with understanding?!" Arthur was livid. He desperately wanted to rush forward and escape with the girl, but his task was in front of him. He could not leave._

_The beast made a sound like a mix between a growl and a laugh. It gurgled and rumbled in its chest. "Ha! You prove to be just as ignorant as the rest, for a man such as yourself. And __**you**__ are the one who restored relations between humans and fairies? What a terrible, horrible man you are." It trotted around Arthur, snarling, long tail bristling. For some reason, it was easier to see the wolf in its own darkened environment. A light illuminated its lithe, starved form. Realization struck Arthur with a sharp slap._

_"…You're starving…"_

_It stopped trotting about him, sitting back on its haunches. Tilting its long muzzle down, it seemed to nod, impressed. "You see now, right? They starve me, those people. They don't stop. I allowed them a small piece of my land as an extension of piece. They would take no more land, and I would bless their crops, help them in times of need. But they went against their word. They took from me. They made me go to the extremes. Every year, the forest dies a little faster. Every year, more and more of it slips from me. And just this year, my pelt turned black. Do you know why that is?"_

_"Malnutrition. Blood spilled on your soils. People taking from you without you gaining anything in return."_

_"Exactly. Where should I have drawn the line? A hundred years ago, when these people came into my forest, shaking, and begged for my help! I should have turned them away when I had the chance! Do you see what they lead me to?! They lead me to this, they lead me to keeping their children hostage, so that when they die, they will see them no more I must make them suffer! They __**must suffer**__!"_

_"NO!" Arthur practically shouted, shaking his head. "No! You don't have to! Bloody hell, this is wrong! The people have been unfair to you, yes! But they don't know any better! They're stupid humans! We can't help our mistakes! Just because they starve you, it doesn't mean you should fall to their level! The poor children…oh, the poor children…you should never feel justified in killing the innocent!"_

_"I must! If I do not, then I will die! Without me the forest itself will wither and disappear, and all the living creatures in it will have nowhere to go! I __**am**__ life in this area! I cannot turn back now!"_

_"You have to," Arthur shook his head "You __**must**__, __**please**__! It isn't right! I can get the people to…to at least promise something to you! To each plant a tree and grow it and take no more from the forest without giving it back! I promise you, I can get this from the townspeople!"_

_The wolf snarled, leaped and snapped at Arthur, before its ears perked up. It heard the gentle crying of the girl, the wail underneath the dead children's voices. Arthur saw its skin bunch and shake in a sort of shiver, a low whimper escaping its mouth. Finally, it sat back down. "…Very well. You may have the girl back, and the souls may pass on—but __**only**__ when the first tree is planted in the forest."_

Arthur jumped from the bed immediately. He was shivering still. The dream forest would not leave his mind, with its chilling spell clutching desperately at his memory. Alfred grabbed his arm, frowning. "Are you okay?"

"I'm alright," Arthur ruffled the boy's hair slightly, only to have his hand pushed away. "Don't worry about me. What time is it?"

"Morning," Alfred replied.

"Have you been up all night waiting for me, Alfred?" Arthur smirked a bit, bemused.

"I promised, didn't I?"

He chuckled. "Yes. I suppose you did." Arthur stood immediately, pulled on his clothes, and headed for the door. "Would you like to come with me, Alfred?"

Alfred's eyes sparkled with delight. His face lit up immediately. "Yeah!"

______

And so Arthur explained to the mayor what must be done. Immediately, the old man understood, and ordered for seeds to be gathered and planted by everyone capable of walking. The work was done by mid-day, giving back to the spirit. Arthur and Alfred played in the forest, while Matthew and Francis no doubt spoke to one another—it seemed that Alfred was more energetic than the other young boy. When the sun began to set, Arthur and Alfred went back to the hotel room. Arthur refused to let the brothers sleep outside any longer.

Alfred made the same promise he had again. He would wait for Arthur and wake him up if anything bad happened. "Good night, Arthur," with that, Arthur slid into an even sleep.

_When he returned to the forest, light filtered through the green canopy, deciduous trees letting off a beautiful glow. The wolf trotted about them, brown splotches covering its blackened pelt. It turned its head to Arthur, trotted over to him, and sat. "You have kept your promise, as I have kept mine. I thank you. In the years to come, perhaps we will meet again. Even so, I wish you luck in future times. You carry my blessing."_

_"No," Arthur murmured, smiling at the wolf and bowing his head respectfully. "I thank __**you**__, guardian. May your forest prosper."_

_The wolf and the forest faded into peaceful dreams of blue skies, blue eyes and a rainy city…_

Arthur stretched and yawned as he woke in the morning. Alfred sat on the foot of the bed, grinning. "Mornin'," he laughed, hopping from the bed.

"Good morning," Arthur slid from the bed, looking around. Francis was dressed to leave, clutching Matthew's shoulder.

"Ah, Kirkland. I will be leaving now. Your cut of the pay is on the desk. Matthew?" Francis began to button up his traveling cloak.

Matthew walked over to Alfred and hugged him tightly. Alfred hugged back immediately, which caused the petite boy to squeak and mumble something at Alfred, who sheepishly slackened his grip. The Canadian boy calmed immediately.

Arthur rushed over to the table, snatched up the envelope, rifled through to make sure there was enough; when he found that there was, he immediately calmed himself, tucking it away in his bag nearby. He then turned to Francis and glared. "You didn't do _any_ work, yet you _still_ took half?! And what the hell is going on?!"

"Calm down! Mon Dieu, you are _so_ loud! The mayor paid handsomely, and I traveled all this way—there's no chance I'd leave without _something_." Francis rolls his eyes. "I am taking dear Matthew with me. He is my apprentice now."

"Are you kidding me?! Francis—Francis, you can't just leave with Matthew and leave Alfred alone!"

Francis sighed. "It matters very little; I had offered for him to come along as well, but he denied. We will be leaving now. Come, Matthew," he gestured for the boy to follow. Matthew wiggled away from Alfred and rubbed at his eyes as he walked through the door with Francis, back to the French cities and country sides.

Arthur sighed as he dressed himself. Alfred sat on the bed and wiped at his eyes, wetting his sleeves. When he finished, the Englishman sat next to Alfred and rubbed his back. "Hey, Alfred…sh, don't cry. I'm here." Alfred only cried harder.

Several awkward attempts to calm the American boy failed, before Arthur gave up entirely and decided to just let the boy cry. He scooped him up and held him close to his chest, smiling slightly at the boy who looked up at him with wide, tear-filled eyes.

"Wh-What are you doing?" He asked out of genuine curiosity.

"Holding you. Do you…want me to let you go?" Arthur waited patiently for his response.

"N-No," Alfred clung to him with a powerful grip. "Don't leave me."

Arthur smiled at the blue-eyed boy, petting his hair. "If that's the case, then…I can't very well leave you here, now can I?"

Alfred looked up at him with wide eyes. "You mean, you'd…?"

"Would you like to come back to London with me, Alfred? I can't very well leave you here, knowing your situation."

A grin broke onto Alfred's face. "Yeah!"

______

They boarded the ship that would take them across the Atlantic. There, they looked back at the world they were leaving. They looked towards the world they were headed towards. And they looked at each other and smiled.


	8. Sumina's Fate

Sumina

-chapter six-

Sumina's Fate

**A/N: **Chapter Six! We're really moving along now! I'm glad that so many of you have stuck around so long—it really makes me happy to see so many of you who like it! If it pleases the general public, I've recently decided to have some follow-ups with this story. You know…epilogues with all of the pairings in the story…maybe even the minor ones as well. Anyhow, enjoy Chapter Six, guys!

**Rating:** T, for violence, coarse language, and gruesome images.

---

"Malorus," Heracles spoke "I heard the name Malorus in my vision last night."

"Who's Malorus?" Ivan raised an eyebrow.

Arthur slammed the door as he returned to the hotel room, a cloak folded over his arm and a bag in one hand. "Malorus is an ancient deity. The Equilibrium, they called it. Or…"

"The Cure," Heracles finished. Arthur narrowed his eyes at him.

"I was just about to say that."

"Malorus seems to be what we need in order to overcome Animus. But we must find someone to control it…Malorus is unruly, and whoever summons them will be destroyed as well, unless they have a pure soul."

Arthur broke in, "'_Only one with a soul of pure, May cast upon the world a cure._'"

"Yes…and I know of one who has a pure soul. Sumina. It seems the ability given to her at birth was to be the complete opposite of her father." Ivan wondered how anyone would ever agree to be with such a terrible man. "She made it her goal in life to rescue the people her father captured. If we find her, then we have found our way to Malorus." Heracles nodded his head slightly after he'd finished.

"There's a complication with that plan, Oracle."

Heracles looked slightly puzzled. Ivan was startled to see this look—the Oracle was never surprised in the slightest. "What do you mean, Arthur Kirkland? I saw her in a dream, with blond hair and sky blue eyes. She sat in her room with her traveling cloak on."

"Yes," Arthur shook his head "I don't doubt that you saw her. But she's dead."

Heracles' eyes widened. A dark, heavy silence smothered the room. Ivan thought he would choke on the silence until the Oracle finally spoke. "Th-that can't—"

"Heracles! It's true, damn it!" Arthur snapped, clenching his teeth in frustration. His voice was soaked with guilt. "I saw her that day. She told me her father planned to kill her. He poisoned her drink, I saw it all! And I didn't do a damned thing to stop it!" He kicked the nightstand closest to him, putting his forehead in the palm of his hand. "…She told me not to try anything risky. She gave me her mother's ring—she held the same magic signature as her mother did. But damn it, if I just hadn't listened to her…"

"Why would you know that she had the same magic signature as her mother, Kirkland-san?" Kiku sat next to the stunned Heracles, who stared at the wall either in a trance or in denial.

"She told me before she left," he snapped, before plopping down on the bed, shoulders slumped.

"Then…is it possible that she did that for a reason? Maybe we're supposed to trace it," Kiku suggested, shaking Heracles slightly—the Oracle responded with a small grunt. Now Arthur's eyes went wide.

"I-It's possible she's still alive," he stood suddenly, hopeful. "Quick! We need to find someone to trace it!"

"We can return to Bonnefoy's home," Ivan stood, tucking the mirror into his pocket. It seemed he had been watching Yao sleeping all morning.

"NO!" Arthur screamed, eyebrows furrowed deeply. "Not Bonnefoy! Anyone but Bonnefoy, please!"

"And why's that?" Kiku asked, puzzled. "There's nothing wrong with him."

"I REFUSE to get help from the French Frog!" He stamped his foot, crossed his arms, and turned his back on the group. Ivan's eyebrow rose.

"I don't think you're in a position to say that. You owe Sumina, after all." The result of the Russian's words was evident. Arthur's shoulders dropped. "So do this, and you can repent for causing Sumina's death!" His voice was cheerful, like a child's. Kiku sent him a disapproving look, pressed his lips together, but did nothing more.

"Fine. But don't expect me to be nice to the Frog," he growled, refusing to turn around. "I don't like him, and that's all you need to know."

Ivan rolled his eyes, "That was a little more than obvious, Kirkland. Now come, we must go." They all headed out the door, one after the other, paid for their room that night, and left the hotel. Once outside, they found a secluded area (which took quite some time), linked hands, and found themselves being lifted from the ground and beaten in the air by wild winds. They ended up just outside Francis Bonnefoy's estate—Ivan, for the second time in his life.

Ivan knocked on the door when they had reached it, after Heracles began to carry the worn-out Kiku on his back when the small man could not walk and further—which was, to say, not very long. The meek boy from his previous visit answered, eyes going wide. "Hello, Matthew! Nice to see you again," Ivan smiled down at the boy, who cleared his throat awkwardly.

"Um…p-please, all of you follow me," Matthew mumbled.

Arthur narrowed his eyes at him. "…Matthew?!" Matthew looked at Arthur. His eyes widened.

"Arthur!"

"Oh Dear Lord, _please_ don't tell me—"

"Yes, Arthur, I work for Francis. Still. Like I have for several years now," Matthew shook his head. "He's not so bad, you know."

"You're kidding me! He's _terrible_!" Arthur was seething.

"Ahem. Anyways, um…how's Alfred doing?" Arthur froze, cleared his throat, settled himself slightly.

"He's…he's fine," he murmured. Ivan decided this was a good time to intervene.

"Aha! How funny, that you two should know each other! Now I don't mean to interrupt, but we need to see Mister Bonnefoy now." He smiled in the most subtly threatening way possible.

Matthew took the bait and turned on his heel with a, "R-Right this way, sir!" on his lips. Heracles watched with slight interest, shifting Kiku about on his back. Everyone filed in, following the retreating Canadian through a myriad of halls and doorways. Ivan admitted that he remembered very few to none of these, though he'd passed through them before. The room they entered, he did remember. The Study with the large window and the coffee table right in front of it, Ivan remembered.

"Ah! Matthew, I see you've brought guests—and who is this?" Francis directed his attention towards the thick-browed Englishman hiding behind Ivan. "I can feel your presence just as you can feel mine, _Kirkland_."

"Sh-Shut up, French bastard!" he spat, glowering like a child.

Ivan rolled his eyes. "We're here for your services again, Mister Bonnefoy."

"Look at all the people you've brought into my home!" He pats Matthew's shoulder as he returns to his side, arms folded behind his back. "It is good to see you again, Monsieur Karpusi. And Arthur…I suppose it's nice to see you again." Heracles nodded and hummed in response, while Arthur glowered and snarled.

"French bastard…"

"And I can see that you are here for something. It would not have to do with the collapsed man on Monsieur Karpusi's back?" Francis tilted his head to the side, looking at Kiku. Ivan shakes his head.

"No. It has to do with Sumina, Bonnefoy," Arthur spat his name like a poison. He pulled a ring from his pocket—a simple platinum band with foreign letter etched upon it. "Trace it for us."

"Oh, so rude, Arthur! Is that any way to speak to someone you need the assistance of?" Francis feigned hurt. Matthew looked slightly annoyed with the two of them.

"God damn it, Bonnefoy! Just do as I say!"

"Please," Heracles broke in.

"Thank you, Monsieur Karpusi, but I want to hear Arthur say it." Francis smirked triumphantly as Arthur grit his teeth.

Ivan looked between the two. "What's going on here…?"

"No! I _refuse_ to play your _bloody_ _game_, Bonnefoy!" Arthur seethed, stamping his foot and clenching both his jaw and his fists.

"Please just do it," Matthew murmured, sighing with exasperation.

Arthur growled, silent for a long while. You could practically hear the taunting smirk on Francis' face. "F-Fine! _Please_ trace Sumina's ring for us, Bonnefoy!"

"Very well, Arthur. That wasn't so hard, now was it?" Francis walked over to Arthur, pried the ring from the Englishman's hands after a bit of struggle (in which they glared at one another, not once looking away, Arthur snarling and Francis trying his best to keep a smile on his face), and walked back to his table. Arthur glared hatefully at Francis. "Matthew, please show them to their rooms."

"Yes, Fran – I mean, Monsieur," he blushed slightly before walking each to their own rooms, held in the same hallway. Ivan was placed in the same room he had on his last stay, while Arthur had the room across from his. Heracles was led to one on the same side of the hallway as Ivan's, just a little further down. He requested that Kiku stay in the same room as him. To make sure he's okay, he said.

Ivan sat down in one of the chairs near the fire. It was unlit, and the room was cold. He sighed and laid his head back, closing his eyes.

Though the shelves were filled with books, the room felt empty. Empty was the exact feeling he had. He wasn't hungry, he knew that—it was a deep, gaping hole in his chest, one that brought a chilly frost over his body and made him shiver, made him ache for warmth and love and all the things he never had growing up, all the things he'd never hold in the future. Winter fell over his body. He felt frozen to the chair. His fingers would not move. Shaking, fingers twitching, Ivan whimpered. In a pathetic voice he called out, "Yao!" No one answered. The mirror didn't even hum or move an inch. He called out again. "Yao!" Again, no one answered his call for help. Nothing. "_Yao!_"

"Sh," a dark-haired man appeared before him, putting a hand on his shoulder, one arm behind his back. "Don't cry, Ivan. I'm here."

"H-How?" he questioned the figure, "How can you be here?!"

"That's rather unimportant," Yao murmured. "I'm here now."

With all his heart he wanted to embrace him. But he knew otherwise—something was not right.

Yao smiled. It wasn't the smile that Ivan knew and loved. It was the smile of a madman, someone with blood on their mind. From behind his back he pulled a pair of shearing scissors. That smile turned into the grin of a murderer. "_Happy birthday, brother!_" Natalia's voice, but Yao's body. Ivan screamed as the scissors were brought down upon his chest, into his skin and pulled open, then out. A deep, bleeding gash exposed itself through his jacket, red blood staining its dark blue. Yao raised the scissors above his head, cackling madly, bringing them down upon Ivan's—

Ivan jumped from his chair with a start. He panted like a dog, with wide eyes, searched around the cold room. When he was sure there was no one in his room, he stood up straight and relaxed as much as his tense muscles would allow him. 'I must have fallen asleep,' he reasoned. The doorknob began to rattle. He immediately picked up the nearest object he could find—a poker for the fire—and readied himself to attack. His heart was pounding wildly once more. The door flung open.

"Sir, it's almost time for din…ner," Matthew's eyes went wide at the crazed expression Ivan wore. "Um, excuse me…" The Canadian instantly retreated from the room, slamming the door after him and rushing down the hall. Ivan dropped the poker, sagged his shoulders and rubbed at his eyes. What was going on with him lately? A sharp pain stung his chest. He grimaced, peeling off his scarf and his coat, revealing blood oozing from a deep cut beneath his final layer.

Ivan quivered as he rushed to the bathroom. He found soap and cleaned the deep gash on his chest with boiling hot water, then allowed the water to cool and splashed himself in the face, rubbing at his eyes. "Ah God," he cried, "Ah God, why? Ehk, I don't understand…" He found his gauze and wrapped it around his chest. The wound still stung, but he had hopes it would heal quickly. His ability made him very resilient. After he had finished, he found his way to the dining room and joined everyone but Kiku there, ate, and wandered back into his room.

All night, Ivan looked out the window onto the front lawn. All night, Ivan refused to sleep. And all night, Ivan thought he saw the fleeting figure of Wang Yao, with Natalia's voice bubbling in his throat, holding a pair of shearing scissors rusted with his blood. When morning came, he rubbed his tired eyes, cleaned and dressed his wound—which had partially healed over night—and followed Matthew to the dining room for breakfast. He found that Kiku sat at the table with Heracles, Arthur and Francis. Kiku looked just as tired as he did. When he sat, Arthur stopped mid-sip of his water and stared. Under his gaze, the wound on his chest began to throb. His face screwed up slightly from the pain. Ivan attempted to keep his hurt in check, swallowed with difficulty, and flashed a childish grin at Arthur. Arthur rolled his eyes, sipped from his water, placed the glass down on the table, and turned his attention to the plate set down in front of him.

Once everyone had eaten, Francis began to speak. "I have traced the ring back, as you have asked…the magic signature leads to a woman named Elizaveta. It is very strange, though…Elizaveta is not related to Sumina, is she?"

"No, she is not," Heracles murmured. "She does not follow any prominent family line."

No one bothered to argue with the Oracle at this point. Francis nodded his head. "Ah, I see. Well, that is where you should head. I wish you luck. All of you," he turned his gaze to Ivan, stuck it there for a long while, and turned away. "Here, Arthur. You may have the ring back. It may prove useful to you in the future." His gaze flickered back to Ivan before he tossed it to the magician, who just barely caught it.

"Gah! Bloody wanker…you could have damaged it!" He howled, tucking the ring into his pocket. "Throwing protective artifacts around like they're some sort of plaything…"

They all stood and were escorted back to their rooms by Matthew. Before he could retreat into his room to get his things, Kiku stopped him. "Um, Braginsky-san?"

"Yes, Kiku?" Ivan turned about to face the Japanese male. Kiku's eyes widened slightly. The two forced calm upon themselves.

"You look very tired…I don't mean to pry, but are you well?" Kiku stepped back slightly.

"I'm fine," Ivan barked, opening the door to his room and slamming it. When he was sure Ivan had retreated well into his room, Kiku sighed.

"Braginsky-san…you have me worried." He promptly returned to his shared room and gathered his belongings.

Ivan gazed into the mirror in his bathroom. The eyes that stared back at him were not his. They were hungry, starving—begging for something that he could never satiate. He looked away, the gash on his chest throbbing painfully. A slight whimper rose from the back of his throat. He chose to ignore the undignified sound while he gathered his things and met with his fellow companions.

Arthur watched him carefully as they lifted from the ground, twirled about and appeared in a grassy land filled with wild things and wild people.


	9. A Gift is Given

Sumina

-chapter seven-

A Gift is Given

**A/N: **Guess what? Chapter Seven! Though I guess you'd know that. I wanted to incorporate some more characters in here, along with some more of Ivan's extensive past, so there will be some connections in this one.

I used the name Lilli for Liechtenstein's first name. My sister informed me that this is her fandom name.

Also, the word Jó means "good" in Hungarian, if the translation is correct…I don't know Hungarian, so it's possible for it to be wrong, obviously. Langweilig translates to "boring" in German.

Aside from this chapter's information, I'm sorry for the late update (late for me, anyways). I've been busy writing speeches for Student Congress all day. My update next week may also be late, as I have two competitions coming up.

**Pairings:** Pretty much TorisxFeliks, and one-sided GilbertxElizaveta, which will be shown in both Chapter Seven and Chapter Eight.

**Rating:** T, for violence, coarse language (mostly because of Gilbert in this chapter), and gruesome images.

---

The wild plains lay beneath their feet. In the distance, they saw the small village. Further off, they saw the castle looming there, with its large gates like jaws, waiting to swallow up the citizens…

They move on. Into the village, into the unmapped territory. Into something unknown. The first thing they are assaulted by?

A silver-haired man strides up to them, points at Ivan, and shouts, "Fuck you, big-nosed freak!" Needless to say, it takes quite a bit to stop the Russian from pummeling the man to death. None of them are strong enough to handle his strength. Luckily for them, he is incapacitated by a dark frying pan over the head.

The woman wielding this powerful weapon steps on his back when he slumps to the ground twitching. Her grin is triumphant. She flicks her hair over her shoulder and looks at the group with a steady gaze. "I'm sorry about him, he doesn't know when to stop drinking."

"I haven't had one drink today!" The man beneath her feet attests, voice muffled slightly, as his face is pressed into the ground. She stomps on his back, glaring down at him fiercely.

"_You're drunk_." Her resolve is firm. He continues to mutter, but she ignores him otherwise. She turns back to the group. "You guys are new here, aren't you? Well! It's good you met me. I'm Elizaveta," she holds her hand out. They all look between one another.

Arthur steps forward, taking her hand and shaking it politely. "It's wonderful to make your acquaintance, miss. I am Arthur Kirkland," he adds his name at the end, stepping back politely.

Heracles' hands are full so that he may hold up the dozing black-haired man on his back, but he nods his head and speaks, "Hello."

Ivan smiles his usual smile (which causes Elizaveta to back up and shiver), waving to her. "Hello! Ivan Braginsky." His voice is cheerful and peppy. "Is there any way you can speak to us…alone?"

The silver-haired man lifts his head and points dramatically. "No way in _hell_ am I leaving you alone with her!" Elizaveta stomps on him again. She sighs, shakes her head and squares her shoulders.

"It's true…he won't leave me alone. But you might as well just deal with him now. You'll get used to it—we all have." She moves her foot and allows him to stand. "Oh. His name is Gilbert."

"And I am _awesome_!"Gilbert attests as he jumps to his feet. The small chick on his back chirps in agreement.

"Sure, sure," Ivan waves him off. "We just need to speak with you, Elizaveta!"

"Well, then…follow me." She leads everyone to the largest house in the village—a lovely manor that far surpasses the cottages and one-room homes surrounding it. "This is Mister Edelstein's home, but…he lets many of us stay here when we have nowhere else to go, as long as we work for him." She opens the door and leads them to a smaller sitting room attached to her own bedroom. They place Kiku on her bed and sit in the chairs she offers around a coffee table. Gilbert sits as close as Elizaveta will allow him. "Now what is it that you need to talk to me in private for?"

Heracles clears his throat before anyone else can speak up. "It is extremely important that you cooperate. You know of Animus, as well as Sumina, I am sure. You play an extremely important role in the future of humanity, Elizaveta. What we must ask of you is something you cannot deny." He pauses to let this information sink in. Elizaveta's eyebrows are furrowed in conversation, while Gilbert glares in disbelief. "You know what has come to pass. You know that the Gift has been given. And it is time you used it. Malorus."

"No way in hell!" Gilbert stands, crossing his arms. "I have no clue what you're talking about, but no!" Elizaveta glares at him.

"I'll do it, but I have one condition…" Arthur moves his hands from where they are folded in his lap.

"And what would this condition _be_, ma'am?" She smiles at him with a strange glint in her eyes. Arthur cannot help but gulp.

"You've heard of the Jó Rebels, haven't you…?"

They sit around the table in Roderich Edelstein's basement. Ivan, Arthur, and Heracles all in a line, surrounding Elizaveta's left side, swung around the large elliptical table's first quarter. Around the table sat many others—Gilbert on Elizaveta's left, the lord of household all the way across the long-side of the table from her, a dark-haired man with bright purple eyes dressed in fine clothing, next to him his faithful friend, blond-haired and green-eyed, and next to him sat a young girl, obviously related to the small man. In a line sit two familiar faces. Faces that Ivan would rather forget. Three chairs are left empty.

Just before Roderich begins attendance, two others burst through the door. More familiar faces. Ivan groans internally. "Sorry, sorry! I'm sorry we're late!" The frazzled brunet rushes to his seat next to his two brothers, while the blond behind him skips along merrily, sitting down next to the brunet, crossing his legs (he's wearing a skirt, after all).

Roderich sighs. "And what's your excuse this time, Toris?"

Toris grabs a ribbon and ties his hair back, hanging his head. "Feliks was trying to find an outfit," he mumbles.

"And my outfit is like, totally cute! So it's okay, you can chill now, Roddie," Feliks' hair flips about as he bounces his head along with his speech.

Again, Roderich sighs. "Being on time is more important than finding something to wear, Feliks! For Christ's sake, at least _try_!"

"Jeez, what's into you today? You're like, totally rude…"

"Anyhow, everyone appears to be here… Elizaveta Héderváry?" Roderich looks across the table.

"Here!" She smiles slightly at him. The two look at one another oddly.

"Gilbert Weillschmidt?" He grimaces at having to call the name.

Gilbert grins at him, a defiant look that sets Roderich's nerves off. "I'm here, I'm here! You should really be happier to see me, though. After all, I _am_ the heart and soul of this operation here—" Elizaveta smacks the back of his head.

"Eduard Von Bock?" Roderich ignores the shouting German.

"Present," answers a prim, well-dressed older teen, with dirty blond locks and a pair of half-rimmed glasses. Gilbert snickers at his use of 'present'.

"Raivis Galante?"

"H-here, sir," the boy stutters slightly, his gaze fearfully flitting towards Ivan. His hair is messy, slightly curled, but the same shade of blond as Eduard's, if not darker.

"Toris Lorinaitis?"

"Here," Toris answers in a steadier tone than before, though he looks at Raivis with worry on occasion.

"Feliks Łukasiewicz?"

"I'm like, totally here," Feliks files his nails with a rather large smile.

"Vash Zwingli?" He looks to his side, smiling ever so slightly at the blond next to him, whose hair is messy and chopped. Vash stiffens, glaring at him slightly.

"Here," he growls.

"Lilli Zwingli?"

"Here," a small girl with a similar hairstyle to her brother's, a ribbon tied to the side of her head, wearing a pink dress responds, smiling slightly up at Roderich.

Roderich sighs as he looks at the empty chair to her left. "And of course, he's not here," he begins to shake his head. "As usual…"

"The bastard is always missing our meetings," Vash glares at the empty seat.

"Anyhow, we have some new recruits joining us, it seems. Would you please tell us your names and your Birthright?" Roderich looks directly at Heracles.

"Heracles Karpusi," the Greek man blinks slowly. "I am an Oracle. There is another in our group—Honda Kiku—who is a natural magic-wielder. He will be joining us tomorrow."

"Good day; Arthur Kirkland, lovely to meet you all. I'm a talented magic-wielder." Arthur seems to say this with pride, his smile wide.

He clears his throat. "Ivan Braginsky! I was born with the ability to survive almost anything thrown at me." As he says his name, the room falls silent.

Toris, Raivis and Eduard all look upon him with wide eyes. Feliks, however, glares. "I knew it! I _so_ knew it was you! Ivan Braginsky…to think I'd see _you_ here!" He stands and points at him. "You total jerk!"

Ivan snarls, standing as well. His height and anger allows him to tower over the others. "It happened a long time ago, Feliks. Let it go."

"You shouldn't be allowed around any of them! Roderich! You _can't_ let him stay here!" Toris grabs Feliks' wrist and tries to get him to sit back down, but Feliks doesn't budge. He swats his hand away and continues his heated tirade against Ivan Braginsky.

"_Let. It. GO!_" Ivan's look of pure anger, his shouting command—all of these are enough to silent the forceful blond, who sits very slowly, ever so slowly, a look of hatred casted upon the tall Russian. Everyone looks upon Ivan with wide eyes now. Their gaze makes him uncomfortable. The gash on his chest throbs painfully. Pulling at his scarf, he sits back down, looking at the backs of his hands.

Roderich clears his throat. "Anyhow…this whole matter is largely unimportant. What we must discuss is the recent unbalance in the power. Animus has been very unsettled as of late, and his peons have been nabbing citizens from town at night, right from their homes. Normally they have been taken only when on the streets after night. Now tomorrow night, we will be starting patrol to protect these citizens. Get a good night's rest and meet back here at sundown so I may split you into groups. That is all." When he looks up, Gilbert has fallen asleep. "_Gilbert!_"

"Whaaat?" Gilbert lifts his head, rubbing sleep from his eyes. Feliks snickers.

"You like, totally just put him to sleep! _So_ boring, Roddie."

"Extremely boring! _Langweilig_!" Gilbert grins at Feliks. They high-five around the three brothers between them.

Roderich glares slightly at the both of them. "Just…the meeting is over!" With this, Gilbert lets out a triumphant whoop, leaps from his seat, and rushes out the door. Feliks grabs Toris' wrist and leads the frazzled brunet away, the blond glaring at Ivan as he walked through the doorway. The last two of the three brothers left one after the other. Vash leads his sister from the room by the hand, with her bright eyes focused on her beloved brother. Roderich stands, passes by Elizaveta with a, "Good day," to which Elizaveta nods her head and responds with the same thing. Finally, Elizaveta, Ivan, Arthur and Heracles stand. She leads them back to her room.

Heracles walked into Elizaveta's bedroom, to where Kiku lay. Once there, he brushed his bangs from the smaller male's face, smiling slightly as Kiku's eyes fluttered open. He asked Heracles what happened. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he told him everything—including their task tomorrow night.

Ivan spends the night talking to Yao. He does not want to sleep. Yao does not want to let his mind wander to his fate. They keep one another distracted all through the night, until the sun rises.

When the sun set, they all gathered in the meeting room held in the basement. Roderich split them into several groups—he would be going with Vash and Lilli (as Vash refused to leave her with anyone else), Ivan with Gilbert, Elizaveta with Kiku, Heracles with Raivis, Arthur with Feliks, and Eduard with Toris. They split and take districts of the small town, watching from the edges of homes.

Gilbert looks at Ivan and begins, "So…what was up with that, anyway? Yesterday, at the meeting."

Ivan sighs. "A long time ago, I lived in the same city as those four. I would harass them whenever I could, because…their pain averted my own. While I can't take it back, I feel like I owe them something. I…really don't like talking about my past."

"Heh," Gilbert shakes his head as they stroll down a secluded street. "Ya know, sometimes the past just keeps getting dragged up. It's why we do what we do, though. Every time I walk these damn streets, I think of my brother…he's the only reason I'm here right now." They lapsed into silence. Neither one was willing to break it.

____

Elizaveta walks down the street with Kiku in companionable silence. They discuss their homes, and the others. Elizaveta tells him all about those he's curious about, tells him particularly of her relationship with both Roderich and Gilbert. "At one point in time, I married him," she laughs, shaking her head. "I'm glad that both Roderich and I are still friends."

"And Weillschmidt-san?" Kiku looks at her, and she smiles a bit.

"He's always bothered Roderich. We've been friends since childhood, Gilbert and I." She tilts her head to the side and asks, "What about you and the Oracle? Heracles?"

"N-n-nothing!" Kiku stutters and blushes, embarrassment coloring his cheeks. He averts his eyes. "He and I…"

She laughs and shakes her head. "Oh, I can tell! You two are together, aren't you?" Kiku's blush deepens as he nods. "Well…you look cute together—a good couple, I'm sure." He finds himself slightly afraid of the near-mad glint in her eyes, an imaginative one that conjures images in his mind of what she might possibly be thinking of. She just so happens to be thinking the same thing as him…

They continue on in peaceful, thoughtful silence. And just as Kiku raises his gaze from the ground to speak, his mouth open slightly, a painful screech pierces the once-calm night air. Kiku turns on his heel, towards the sound so near to him. It was the scream of a dying man, after all—or, in this case, a dying woman.

Elizaveta stood with a sword plunged through her abdomen, buried to the hilt, a red tip sticking out from the other side. Her eyes are trapped wide-open, mouth agape, the gurgling sound she makes chilling Kiku's spine. She begins to stumble back, stumble away from her attacker, pushing Kiku back into an alley, while the dark-haired man disappears, laughing, and calling out, "Elizaveta is no more! Elizsveta is no more!" Kiku lays Elizaveta down on her side, seizing him by the throat. He swallows difficultly.

"W-What should I do," he half-screams, half-whispers. "What should I do?!" He readies himself to do all he can to help her heal.

"Let me die," she murmurs, a small amount of blood trickling from the side of her mouth. "Let me die, Kiku. This is how it should be. Don't you understand? The only way…for this to happen…is for – is for me to die." Her eyes slide shut, her heartbeat slows. And her breathing is very faint.

"N-No! Please, stay here," he shakes her slightly, his whole body shaking at the same time. "Please!"

As Elizaveta draws her last breath, she lets it out in a gentle sigh, covers Kiku's face with the used-up life she had left in her. Her soul flies from her body, while Sumina's flings itself to Kiku's, graced with Elizaveta's final wish. A white light surrounds him. So bright, that he covered his eyes until it faded and he was just himself again. But he heard more. Felt more. Knew more. It was strange, to hold the soul of someone long-dead within you. Just as he pulls the blade from her body, Gilbert and Ivan turn the corner into the alley.

"E-Elizaveta?" Gilbert calls. In his eyes he holds an expression, like half of himself has died while the other thrives, like part of him doesn't want to live any longer but the other insists on keeping his life. His hands tighten into fists. He runs over to Elizaveta's cooling body and pulls her up, holds her fresh corpse in his arms and sobs, shakes, wracks with unspoken emotion, can do nothing more than let this out. And when he has finished, he has shed more tears than ever before—the first tears of his lifetime. Gilbert glares at both Ivan and Kiku. "You! The both of you—all of you! You did this! You killed her! How…how dare you let her die! God damn it, why?! _Why?!_" He stands and rushes at Ivan, punches him square in the gut, kicks his shin, before he is caught and held in front of the Russian, unable to move, struggling so intensely as he cries yet again, cries for a friend, cries that he could do nothing to help the situation.

Elizaveta Héderváry is no more.


	10. Revelation and Revolution

Sumina

-chapter eight-

Revelation and Revolution

**A/N: **Alright, Chapter Eight! We're getting a little closer to the end here. Hope you guys like it! I also apologize for how short some of these chapters are (particularly this one - which is why it comes out now, on Monday). See you all on Friday!

**Rating:** T, for violence, coarse language and some gruesome images.

**Pairings:** There's very slight hinting at TorisxFeliks, but that's about it.

---

The funeral was a long process. It took the whole day to pay their respects and allow Elizaveta to pass on peacefully, into the afterlife. Their little group was separated, so they saw very little of one another. And perhaps that is why it was so _easy_ to pick them apart, one by one…or maybe not. Only one would go after all.

Ivan stood among most of the rebels and townspeople, looking well over them. None were taller than he. From his vantage point, Elizaveta had been placed in a beautiful casket, dressed in a fine dress, with none of her make-up done (the dress and casket were provided by Roderich). She looked beautiful without it. Ivan saw, however, the paleness that crept over her corpse, clutched at her colorless cheeks. There was an ugliness behind her own special beauty. 'What a pity,' he thought. 'Certainly a pity.'

Arthur stands in the crowd, watching the procession with mild interest. His shoulders sag slightly. "Why is it that people die so often in this world," he shakes his head as he shivers. "And I'm sure this isn't the end. Bloody hell, this is _his_ fault. I swear to God…" Arthur mutters his curses and threats; grimaces with his arms folded behind his back, all the while thinking of Alfred and his loss, the pain he wants to cause in order to deflect his own.

Kiku stood in front, near the casket, looking down at Elizaveta's slowly paling face. His gaze was darkened considerably. "The color won't fade until she dies within you," Heracles said. He stood behind Kiku, who jumped in surprise, but kept his voice in check.

"Heracles-san…don't scare me like that!" Kiku glared at him as the Oracle smiled very slightly.

"Sorry," he apologizes quietly, kissing the top of his head. Kiku looks at Heracles with a disapproving glance as he's pulled against the Greek's chest. There was a long pause—a pause filled with unspoken words. In Heracles' arms, Kiku turned about, buried his face in the broad chest of his partner.

"I should have done something," his voice was muffled slightly.

Heracles raises a hand to rub Kiku's back, leaning down to whisper gently in his ear, "It was fated to happen, Kiku. There was nothing you 'should have done'." The smaller male stiffened in his slight embrace and tugged away from him, eyes narrowed, brows furrowed.

"What?" Kiku's voice was hushed, but sharp. "Heracles…no! I don't care what your Gods say, I should have! It's wrong to condemn someone to their death like that…she didn't have to die!"

Heracles stepped back slightly. His eyes were widened, trapped open like that in a state of silent shock. He found that he could do little more than stare silently. As he did so, Kiku backed away, shaking his head.

"Is that all you know, Heracles?" Kiku's voice was small, barely a whisper. "Is that all you can say? What your Gods tell you?" And when Heracles did not answer, Kiku backed away further. "Heracles…" Kiku murmurs his name, as if hoping for a response. He shakes slightly. When no answer comes once again, Kiku turns around and strides away at a quickened pace. Heracles was left to stare after him, no words leaving his mouth, no action taken further than wishing he knew which direction to take. The Gods were not with him.

Gilbert stares at Elizaveta's outlaid body, eyes narrowed at the ground, hands curled into fists. He grits his teeth with the effort of holding back tears. Next to him stands Toris, whose arm is looped around Feliks' waist. Roderich is not too far away, further off stands Vash and Lily, all three of whom gaze at the open casket, expressions blank. Feliks cries into a handkerchief—no doubt Toris'—while the Lithuanian rubs his arm and tries his best to calm the blond. Eduard and Raivis stand behind them, Raivis on the tips of his toes in order to see the casket.

"Damn it," he snaps, turning to the rest of them. "Damn it all!" Roderich steps forward to place a hand on his shoulder, but Gilbert shrugs it off violently, turning to glare. "Don't fucking touch me!"

"Gilbert!" Roderich glares at him. "You can't keep doing this! Every time something happens, you get angry like this."

"Yeah, I do." He turns again, eyes softening. A look of loss, like something he will never get back, shows on his face. "Because she doesn't deserve for all of her work to just…stop."

Roderich sighs and shakes his head. "What can we do, Gilbert? She's dead. Animus is onto us. We've lost all of the footing we had." Gilbert is quiet for a long while, turning the edges of Roderich's words, thinking them over as if they mattered for once.

"What should we do? Well," Gilbert turns back to face them, a mischievous grin on his face. "We're a Rebellion after all, aren't we?"

"No," Vash growls, glaring heavily at him now, "we can't take the risk, you damn fool! What the hell do you want us to do, huh?! Animus is _suspicious_. He probably already knows we're going to do something drastic and stupid!"

Gilbert laughs sharply. "Exactly my point. If he expects us to make a move, why not make it? What do we have left to lose, anyways? And hell, if we're going to go down, let's go out with a bang. Make Elizaveta proud—do something _good_. Damn, that guy was right. We haven't been doing _anything_. So let's fix that."

"That makes t-total sense," Feliks hiccups slightly. "We should, like, actually h-help the p-people. Why h-haven't we? Animus is a total nutcase. We w-were just, like, afraid we'd get in m-major trouble." While not the most articulate, Feliks' message was very clear.

"We _did_ make the group to help others, after all," Toris murmured. "And we've only been hiding in the shadows."

"So let's stand out and in the light! Screw our security, let's help the people! For Elizaveta, Ludwig, _everyone_! God damn it, I'm not going to sit here and let that world-tyrant destroy everything in my life! No more of this!"

The Rebellion echoed his cries, outrage building up inside them, enough that they all agreed for once, and all on the very same thing. There was no need for compromise. No need to be cautious. They would take their outrage to the streets, show that they would fool around no longer, ready to give up their cover and inspire others to follow in their steps. For when a small rebellion starts, larger rebellions take place, until war begins and the tides change.

Their cries reach the townspeople. All through the funeral, whispers of rebellion begin. Kiku, Ivan and Arthur gather around the people they recently joined, listening to Gilbert's angry cries, emotions stirring within them.

And while they all gather around, Heracles wanders off. He wanders through the town, watches the rolling fields without his usual interest. As he sighs, he closes his eyes and lets the wind whip his hair around, bombarding his face. "Cool clarity," he mumbles. "If only I really could make my own decisions." He hears the wild cry of the people. What he does not hear is the near-silent figure behind him, who holds a cloth to his mouth and holds him tight around the neck. He kicks and flails, screams lost on the cloth covering his mouth. Altogether, his body gives up, and his mind goes blank.

People begin to leave as the sun sets. They close the coffin lid, cover it with a bright-colored cloth and lay the flowers about her. Ivan gathers both Arthur and Kiku. "Are we ready to leave?"

Kiku looks worried. "Where's Heracles? I can't find him," he looks all about. Only a few people are still there.

"I didn't see him." Arthur looks confused as well. Ivan looks about, walking in a small circle around his two companions.

"Heracles?" Kiku calls his name several times, but it is lost on the building winds. Heracles will not hear him.

______

"Sir, we have the Oracle," a man bows his head to the tyrant that sits on the throne.

A cruel, dark grin breaks onto his face. Cold laughter bursts from his throat. In the holding cells of Animus' home, Heracles sits along the cool stone of the walls, head pointed towards the ceiling, his eyes clouded over.

_____

_"You know, they just might be smart, after all," a voice next to himself. They are looking out a window at the town, where Animus' people fight against the Rebellion. While Animus has more servants, they fall like flies. "They're gonna lose. No matter what, they're gonna lose—he may have more people, but those guys have the will and the fighting spirit. Everyone's on their side."_

_"What do we do now?" Heracles asks gently._

_"We wait for your friends to reach the stronghold," he laughs—a big, booming laugh—happily, pats his shoulder with a gloved hand. "When they get here, you join them. I've got some things that need to be done here."_

_"You won't join us?" The man next to him shakes his head._

_"Nope. Like I said," he murmurs the last part. "I've got something that needs to be done." Heracles asks no more questions. When he's sure that the Oracle will ask nothing else, the man turns to leave. "Seeya."_

_"…Goodbye, for now."_

Heracles smiles to himself. "Yes…goodbye, for now."


	11. Motion

Sumina

-chapter nine-

Motion

**A/N:** Wow, I'm almost finished with the main chapters! Chapter Nine gives us just two more until the main action comes to a close (would that be falling action, or the denouement?). I enjoyed this chapter, for some reason. The song that Ivan is singing is called _Polyushka Polye_—it's an old Russian song from the Revolution, from what I'm aware. It's truly beautiful, so I recommend listening to it throughout the chapter. Any version is fine, though I used Origa's for the scene with Ivan singing it, and Ahmet Koc's and the Red Army Choir's for the rest. Enjoy!

**Rating:** T, for violence, coarse language and gruesome images. It's definitely for violence and gruesome images in this chapter.

---

_Blood covers his body. He crawls backwards, staring fearfully up at the figure in front of him. Natalia brings the knife down again, narrowly missing him. She shrieks with rage, body shaking as she pulls the knife from the floor with difficulty and brings it down once more. The knife hits home. It lodges itself right down to the handle in her brother's belly. Natalia's grin is triumphant. "Brother, you should have never left me. Brother, you should have stayed with me. We could have been together. We could have gotten married and started a family! Don't you care about me, even one bit?!" When Ivan did not answer, she shrieks again and twists the knife, pulling, stabbing it down again, and Ivan can't help but to scream, his helpless calls flooding the room. His older sister cannot help him. Their caretaker has died. __**She**__ has died. And this makes him cry, makes bloody tears stream down his face to match his helpless appearance as Natalia continues to stab and rip and hurt, covered in his blood. As if searching, her hand reaches within his wounds. "Brother, where is your heart?! Don't worry…I'll find it! And when I do, I'll keep it! It's mine—your heart belongs to __**me**__!"_

Ivan wakes himself up with his scream. It echoes against the walls even as he stops and reduces himself to panting, heart pumping wildly. With a shake of his head, he lays his head back against the pillows and groans. "Why do I have these dreams? What did I do to deserve this?" His throat is raw as he speaks. Coughing to clear it, Ivan begins to slide from the bed, only to fall back down onto it unceremoniously from a sharp, intense pain from his abdomen. His heart begins to beat wildly once more. A cold sweat breaks out on his forehead. Quickly, he tugs the covers from his body and looks down at his stomach.

Red blood stains his white nightshirt. A sharp pain makes him gasp, no more wind in his lungs. He groans quietly, whimpers a little louder. As he begins to run for the bathroom to clean his wound, Kiku stands in his way.

"Braginsky-san? I heard you scream…are you alright?" Kiku's eyes are red and puffy. He looks tired. Ivan can only guess that he has been up all night crying. And who can blame him?

"I'm fine, Kiku," Ivan rushes his reassurance, turning slightly. Suspicious, Kiku looks at the area Ivan wished to keep a secret.

"B-Braginsky-san! You're bleeding! What happened?!" Kiku's eyes are wide as he stares at the wound.

"Nothing," Ivan snaps. "Nothing! I told you I'm fine."

Kiku shakes his head, grabbing Ivan's wrist. "Braginsky-san, people lie. You're _obviously_ not alright! Now please, allow me to help you—" Ivan struggles, but he doesn't have the strength, desire or heart to hurt the smaller male further than what he's experienced already. Kiku leads him towards the bathroom and instructs him to sit on the toilet seat.

"Now lift your shirt, please, Braginsky-san." Ivan does as he's told. A large, deep gash runs from his ribcage down to his hip. The same wound Natalia caused in his dream. This only makes him sweat and fidget nervously. "Oh, my! How did this happen?! It's a horrible cut!" Kiku retrieves some of his supplies and sets to work on cleaning out the wound before healing it. Both processes are painful. Ivan bites his tongue in order to keep himself silent. He tastes his own blood in his mouth. It's enough to make him sick. There is regret as he swallows down the foul mixture of bile and blood, gags trying not to think of it. Ivan does not want to move, nor throw up on Kiku, who is kind enough to treat his own careless mistake. For some reason he feels as though this is all his own fault.

The whole process takes several hours. While Kiku works, Ivan becomes aware that his fingers are coated in blood, caked thickly under his fingernails. He licks his lips, spreading the blood, saliva and vomit from his mouth onto them, twitching nervously. Kiku is aware of his state, but says nothing. "There. Braginsky-san…be careful. You're worrying me," he murmurs, walking through the bathroom door. Ivan leans his head back against the tiled wall. Its cool surface clears his mind enough to let him think. _Happy birthday, Brother!_ But he does not want to think.

_Drip._ A single tear slides from his left eye. It lands on the floor as he murmurs to himself, hugs himself, tries to soothe his shaking body. His crying is silent. He refuses to make any noise other than the gentle singing of a song he knew a lifetime ago, a song he sings under his breath now in a quivering voice, "…_Polyushka polye, Polyushka shiroka polye…Yedut da po polyu gyeroi, Proshlogo vryemyeni gyeroi…_" He knows the song is not the most soothing, but it keeps him distracted. Pulling the lyrics from his memory bank stops his tears, but not his quiet anguish. His bottom lip quivers even as he stands, hugging his stomach as he walks, and the melancholic melody running through his mind. "_Polyushka polye…_" It brings him back to the bed, stripped of the soiled sheets, cleaned. Ivan falls back onto it, staring at the ceiling, humming to keep himself steady. The sun rises through the window. He has spent the whole night through once more.

______

Arthur's eyes are closed. He turns the ring around in his fingers, feeling its smooth edges and the engraved words. As Kiku walks into his room, he opens his eyes to look at him. The Japanese male rubs at his reddened eyes. He looks far older than he ever has. "Kirkland-san…Braginsky-san is worrying me," his voice wavers as he ends. "He…he had a deep cut on his stomach when I went to check on him."

"Hm," Arthur grunts, shaking his head. "Were his hands bloody?" Kiku nods very gently. The Englishman shakes his head, sighs. "If he's been suppressing something…then he's been hurting himself."

"But, what should we—" Kiku stops when he sees Arthur direct his gaze to the object in his hand. He looks down as well, at the silver ring gleaming in the light.

As if instinctively, Arthur clutches the ring tight against his palm. He knew indents would be left behind as proof. The metal warms in his hand. "She left us the means to help him until he can overcome it on his own." He looks up at Kiku with a slight smile. "Let's not disappoint her now."

______

The time comes upon them swiftly. Arthur, Ivan and Kiku rise soon after the sun, head into the basement, meeting the Rebellion there. They stand very straight, grim, but ready. Everyone is dressed in a uniform of sorts. Roderich stands, speaking to them. "Feliks, we need you to stay in town. Keep up a barrier in case his men try to get in. Lilli will stay with you and make sure that everyone stays indoors."

"And what if, like, one of you tries to get in?" Feliks raises an eyebrow.

"Don't open the barrier for _anyone_, Feliks. Only open it if you feel the atmosphere getting lighter." Roderich raises his hand when Feliks stands, mouth open, a million protests ready to spill out without thought. "_Anyone_. That's final." Feliks sits, his eyes flying open a little wider than usual. Ivan can only imagine what must be running through the blond's mind.

"Toris, Raivis and Eduard?" The three brothers sit up a little straighter. "I want you to help breach his defenses. Toris, get through the main door and open it. From there, all three of you should clear a path one way or another." They all nod and swallow with difficulty. Next to him, Feliks clutches Toris' arm.

Roderich turns to face the three that have just entered. "And what are your plans?"

"We're to get to Animus as quickly as possible. Kiku will be summoning Malorus," Ivan explains, nodding his head slightly. "All we need is a few minutes with him. The problem is getting there."

"Gilbert, Vash…you'll be with Ivan, Kiku and Arthur, in that case. Help them get there." Vash nods his head—he looks as determined as usual. Gilbert's arms are crossed as he glowers at a cup left on the table. No brazen retort is thrown back at Roderich.

With everything set up, all the Rebels have to do is wait.

_______

Night falls in a painfully slow fashion. When it does, everyone is eager to take the plans up. They hop to their feet and begin to form their groups, head for the door, and all assemble near the edge of town. Feliks looks solemn as he stands alone, separated from the others, staring at them with a desperation hidden deep within his eyes. "Good luck," he breathes, before a pinkish-red barrier swirls up from the ground and folds around the city like a flower closing in on its center.

Vash looks over Ivan, Kiku and Arthur and sighs, growling. "Here," he offers Ivan a gun—while several of his own are most certainly tucked away, as just a few are noticeably on him—with a shrewd glare. "You're gonna need it."

Ivan pushes the gun away, expression terse. "I don't believe I'll need it, but thank you anyway."

The blond's glare only becomes worse. "Look. I don't care if you don't think you need it or not, but take the damn gun! You're gonna need it, trust me." To appease the short male, Ivan takes the gun and tucks it into the pocket on the inside of his coat. Vash settles and looks between both Kiku and Arthur. The two fidget and turn away, mumbling things about being able to protect themselves. They received harsh glares from the blond, who turned around and did not bother to argue with the rest of them. "Stupid magic-users never think to have back-up protection…"

It was a long march to Animus' estate. Perhaps an hour or so passed before they reached the gates, which were wide open as they normally would be. The doors into the main building were shaped like wide arches, also locked. Toris clears his throat and steps forward nervously. "Allow me, please." He closes his eyes and hangs his head; feet spread wide apart, fingers stretching away from one another. He seems to be in a state of concentration. When the color began to fade from his body, he surged forth at a blinding speed, launched himself at the door and disappeared through it. Ivan cast a look of surprise at the door. It rattled and clanked before it flew open altogether; open for the others to rush through. Toris stood in the threshold of the doorway. "Go on! Go! I'll be right behind you all." They all rushed past him.

"Feliks," he murmurs, looking towards the barred city. "Dear God, please hold out long enough…"

The palace was large, lavish. They could only assume all the money taken from the town had gone into supporting Animus' lifestyle. Instantly, Eduard, Raivis and Toris split up to do their work, leaving only Vash, Gilbert, Ivan, Arthur and Kiku. Vash led them over to a wall and looked about carefully, making sure no one was headed their way, before walking down the nearest corridor. "Damn it, this is gonna be a guessing game," Gilbert curses. "There's no way we can know where the hell he is."

As they walk, Arthur gives Ivan a discerning look. He tells him, "Ivan, let me see your hand." When Ivan raises an eyebrow, Arthur glares and smacks his arm. "Not like that, you git!" The Russian lifts his hand for Arthur to see, who snatches the glove off of his hand and slips the platinum band over his middle finger, tossing the glove at him once he's finished. "There."

Ivan furrows his brows as he slides the glove back onto his hand. The metal warms his finger slowly, until it envelops his hand, his arm, and eventually his whole body. Once it's touched his toes, it fades altogether. All the while, they have been walking through the long corridor, looking in on the rooms with open doors cautiously.

________

Heracles is not surprised when the door to his cell is suddenly swung open. He does not move as his savior walks towards him, ripping the shackle from the wall with ease. The tall man tosses his head back and grins. "Hey there, prisoner! It's time you got a little taste of freedom." From his posture, brazen speech pattern and simply the look in his eye, Heracles can tell that the man is young, just ready to reach his twenties, but still a teenager unwilling to let go of his adolescence. The dark allows him no more defining features other than that.

"There's something to be said about tasting freedom, when you're constantly suffocated by oppression," Heracles answers as he stands. The shackle is still attached to his wrist. It clinks as he walks.

"Well, I wouldn't be too worried about that. It looks like freedom's comin' at us real fast," the man grins again and motions for Heracles to follow. The Oracle does so.

______

"Would ya look at that," the man whistles as he gazes out the window, at the barrier-covered town. The pinkish-red shield flickers every once in a while. "Impressive, that it's being held up for so long while under attack."

"That it is."

"It's about time you caught up with them. Tell 'em where Animus is," he grins and pats his shoulder. "Seeya!"

"…Goodbye, for now."

The man gives Heracles a strange look with furrowed brows, but runs off immediately, down the halls, to do whatever odd task he broke into the stronghold for. Heracles turns away to look out the window once more; the barrier flickers more often now. 'Hold up just a moment longer,' the Oracle wills it to stay up, before he rushes off to deliver the information needed to end it all.


	12. Equilibrium to Animosity

Sumina

-chapter ten-

Equilibrium to Animosity

**A/N:** Oh, we are _really_ close! Wow! This is pretty impressive (for someone like me, who doesn't normally write multi-chapter stories). I hope you guys have enjoyed the ride along the way—I'm extremely grateful for all of the reviews and comments along the way! Please enjoy—we're almost done here!

Guesses on who these people are, based on their descriptions, is always fun to hear.

For those of you interested in dark mood-setting music for creepy scenes, I often listened to Midnight Syndicate while I worked on this chapter. In particular, tracks from their Album _The 13__th__ Hour_. My personal favorite was _Return of the Ancient Ones_, but I also listened to _Mausoleum d'Haverghast_ quite often as well.

Merry Christmas, everyone! I hope, for those of you that celebrate around this time, that you've all enjoyed the holiday season! Take this chapter as a present, if you'd like to take it that way.

**Rating:** T, for violence, coarse language and gruesome images.

---

Footsteps. They rush through the halls now, stopping only once in a while to make sure no one has followed them. When they hear the footsteps, they pause immediately. Someone walks up the stairs at a slow, calm pace. They panic, knowing there is nowhere to hide.

Heracles frowns at them as he walks down the hall. "Did I worry you?"

"…Heracles?" Kiku's eyes widen. Heracles smiles at him, and he can't help but run down the hallway and embrace him tightly, clinging to his shirt, face buried in the Greek man's chest. Moments later, he withdraws, embarrassed by his sudden action.

"Kiku, we may talk later." Heracles turns his gaze from the smaller male still holding his shirt to the group in the background. "Right now, it is important to do what we've come here for. Follow me." He pries Kiku's hands from his shirt (still holding onto one) tenderly, turns, and begins to walk away. Kiku is pulled along, while the rest attempt to catch up by walking at a faster pace.

It takes what feels to be an hour before they halt, and it is only because the patter of numerous feet against the tiled floor can be heard approaching them at a rapid pace. Gilbert swears under his breath and tugs a gun from his side, while Vash already has his out. Ivan holds his water pipe up high, and Arthur takes a stance towards the back. Heracles pulls Kiku close to the wall and shelters him. A shower of bullets is fired as the enemy rounds the corner.

Ivan is the first to be hit. A bullet grazes his shoulder—he does not even flinch. Instantly, Vash lets out his own shots, hitting several men as they rush forward. Only two of the four fall, and Vash fires again. Gilbert sets to work picking off the people that have recently rounded the corner.

Those that get too close are for Ivan. He whacks a man over the head with his water pipe, who falls to the ground with a satisfying grunt. Ivan nudges the body with his foot, looking back at the approaching enemies. He sighs. Many more begin to flood the corridor. "Oh, wonderful," he curses heavily in Russian. "Why are all these men still here if those three were supposed to handle them?"

"They probably left before they could get to them." Vash's gun makes a dull clicking noise as it runs out of ammunition. He tosses the useless thing aside and pulls another one from his side, taking up the quick process of aiming and shooting once more. How the man came into the possession of so many guns will never be fully understood.

Gilbert is firing shots at the enemies as well, though when he runs out, he simply withdraws. Vash seems content to keep firing. Arthur rolls his eyes. "Let me handle this," he growls, and a string of ancient, foreign words leave his lips. The words make a bright light swirl about the Englishman, lifting his dark cloak around him, before it suddenly surged forth—everyone ducked to the ground immediately—to knock the approaching group to the ground, light drowning them in darkness. They would not wake. With a triumphant smirk, Arthur tossed his head to look at the rest of them. "Easy. Now let's keep going. I believe we're close now."

Vash glares. "Whatever. When we get there, Gilbert and I will have to turn back."

"And why is that?" Ivan raises an eyebrow at the small blond.

"The barrier is starting to break," Gilbert explains, tucking his gun away. "The town is going to need some assistance." He grins. "More use for us there. Ya know? More _fun_ for us there now, too."

"…Yeah. Let's just keep going," Arthur turns to look at Heracles, who moves from his defensive position in front of Kiku and nods, walking forward. Kiku trails after, as do the others, skipping over the bodies—some with more care than others. Ivan himself does not care much for avoiding the simple things, and he is sure he has crushed several fingers under his boots by the time they've crossed the halls.

In Ivan's opinion, the stairs were far too lengthy. They lead them up to the second story and into a far larger hallway. By the time they had reached the second story, Ivan was trying to catch his breath. Kiku seemed fine, but looked slightly flustered. Arthur looked to be slightly ruffled, while Heracles was unaffected for the most part. Both Gilbert and Vash were calm about catching their breath.

"This is the floor," Heracles states, looking at Gilbert and Vash. "Do you plan on leaving now?"

"Yeah," Gilbert turns towards the staircase. "Good luck. You're gonna need it."

"I'd hope not," Ivan mumbles, but he knows it's true. He is expecting the worst to transpire.

"Don't do anything stupid," is the last thing Vash says before both he and Gilbert rush down the stairs to help their comrades in the city. Their footsteps down the staircase drift slowly from Ivan's hearing. Further away, the barrier has given out.

"Come on," Arthur hisses. "Let's get going now. Heracles, what should we do?"

"Continue forward. Animus is in the room just ahead." As if to follow his own words, Heracles starts forward. Ivan follows close behind, as does Kiku. Arthur is content to hanging behind them. At the end of the hall, a set of double-doors stands before them. Kiku takes a deep, shaky breath. Heracles rubs the small of the dark-haired man's back.

"…Yes," Kiku closes his eyes. "But I think we should just get going. Finish it, quickly…please."

"I would have to agree," Arthur nods his head. "Let's end this." His voice is sharp, disappointed. Ivan turns to look back at him. The emerald green eyes of the Englishman are darkened, a deep-seated misery lingering within them. Ivan forces himself to ignore this and continue hating the magician.

"Then let us move on," Ivan pushes the doors open with a small bit of difficulty, clutching his pipe in his hand and raising it in a swinging posture immediately afterward. He steps in front of Kiku, Arthur backing the man in the middle, and they walk through the gaping doorway into the high-ceiling room, with Heracles trailing after them.

A madman met their sights. He was no more handsome than he was insane. The dark brown hair was tangled, no doubt left unbrushed. His eyes were a rich brown to match, which swam in a sea of insanity. He looked ragged, worn. Wasting away. An ancient, unused man, with a working mind, as unstable as it was, who sat upon his throne and could really do far less than the men that swore allegiance to him did. Animus seemed to be an open, vulnerable target…before his eyes flashed and the doors sealed shut behind them with a deafening roar of the creaking wood.

"I see that you have made it here intact," the deep voice laughs. "Splendid. Welcome, welcome. Heracles, you escaped me. How so?"

"A man freed me," Heracles explains, no fear evident in neither his posture nor his voice. "It would seem as if your defenses are lacking."

"Hm! How presumptuous. Now what is it that you have brought to me? A mirror?" Ivan's hand flies to his pocket protectively, and Animus laughs once more. "It is an important mirror, isn't it?"

Ivan growls "Shut your mouth, you—" Arthur shoves him, glaring.

"Don't talk to him like that—Kiku needs time, sodding moron!"

Again, Animus laughs. "So that is his name? Kiku, you won't get the time to finish."

Kiku continues his work, but he looks nervous. Heracles urges him to continue, "No matter what he says, go on. We cannot afford to stop here." Kiku takes these words to heart and blocks everything but the writings on the wall out of his head. His hand moves swiftly with the paint and brush.

"Animus," Arthur attempts to stall. "So, why is it that you killed your daughter? Sumina…it was cruel of you. Just because she would not help you! Just because she believed in the townspeople. You're a sick bastard."

"No!" Animus' voice was sharp, pained now. This came as a surprise to both Arthur and Ivan. "I would never kill my daughter for her choices! Sumina was dear to me…I loved her, believe me. But it was her damned looks! She drove me mad. It haunted me, every time I saw her…she reminded me of that man, long ago! Oh, that man…I had to destroy him, but damn, if I had ever met a more beautiful person! I desired him for so long, and yet…and yet…" he swallowed with difficulty "I still killed him. So when she was born, and I saw that she looked like him, I thought for sure that it was the man that had blessed her with his beauty! It haunted me every day, her eyes watching me with the same cold curiosity as his would…braiding locks of her hair and tucking it behind her ears…she tortured me, he must have come back to tell her how to get under my skin!

"And so it was with _remorse_ that I had my daughter murdered! Amalia…I'm sorry, Amalia…Sumina…" His heart-wrenching explanation was finished when he abruptly stood, pulling his blade from his side and rushing forward. "Yet you speak like you knew why! You come into my home to kill me! For that, you will join her!" Animus hurtles towards Arthur; the magician begins to say a spell, but the blade has already punctured his shoulder and removed, to be used again. Ivan pulls the gun from his coat and fires. It is enough to deter Animus for just a moment, but that's all that he needs.

Kiku's outline glows a brilliant white. Behind him, the wall is torn open by russet claws, a black and dismal dimension with a swirling purple-black backdrop. A low hiss can be heard from within. Animus turns, slowly, to gaze at the portal as the shadow-serpent slides through, casting its sharp red glare onto the ancient man. It lolls its head back and makes a sound like shattering glass and the wails of a thousand children dying. Ivan and Arthur cover their ears. Animus' eyes widen. "Malorus!"

The creature twists about and fully enters this world, the portal disappearing behind it. It slithers in mid-air, closer, closer, pushing Animus back onto the wall, where he is an easy target. It cries out again in an accusatory manner. Ivan finally stands up straight, ears still covered, to gaze upon the beast.

It's a fear-inspiring thing. A dark body made of pure shadow, twisting continually, covered with spikes. What Ivan assumes is a set of wings are nothing more than shadowy wisps resembling them. They flex and fold, wide, but have no true use. It has nothing to call hands. A set of blood red eyes glares down at Animus in a painful silence, waiting for some form of explanation. Its head is pointed like an arrowhead. Ivan slowly comes to realize that the whitish spikes sticking from its back are its spine, and beneath the shadowy surface of the creature lays not only its own bones, but the remains of people long dead, floating in stagnant space. It takes all of his willpower not to gag at the thought of the beast devouring a human whole.

Some time passes before Animus does anything. He rushes forward and throws his sword into the beast as a last-ditched effort to kill it off. Instantly, the sword rots and turns to dust. Animus groans—a groan of mortal terror—and backs away slowly, back against the wall, terrified. Malorus simply stares at the man in question. The massive shadow-snake does nothing for a very long while, until it makes up its mind and tilts its head back. Above, a dark cloud forms. Thunder cracks loudly from within. Once again, Malorus cries out, "wings" spread wide, body curling and twitching behind it. Its tail slaps the ground. Rather than going through the ground or turning it to dust, it shakes it violently. Arthur falls back onto his tailbone with a doubly-pained grunt, and Ivan just narrowly avoids landing in the same manner; he breaks his fall by clinging to a nearby tapestry hanging off the wall.

Animus moves back, clutching to the stone of the walls, eyes trapped wide open. He is scared. "N-No," he shakes his head desperately "Stop!" But Malorus has no pity. Malorus can feel nothing more than rage and reason. Above, the clouds swirl and reveal a man dressed in bronze armor and a red cape, staring in front of himself on a grassy plane.

_Across the Danube are trees, a land of people believed to be feral. Across that wide river lies a man he will soon know well._

_The man he felt connected with the most. The man with light blond hair and brilliant green eyes, dressed in green clothes and dark armor, toting a sword. "Come, won't you walk with me?" He was silent, but nodded very gently. Animus smiles, smiles brilliantly. "There we are. After all, it would be wrong to fight a man who has innocence in these times of war, right?" The man did not smile back. He kept his stoic expression in place._

And in the next scene, a sword is plunged through the blond-haired man's stomach, hair stained a deep red.

_Animus' eyes are wide. He shakes violently as he holds the man's hand in his own; staring directly down into those green eyes he loved so much. "No, please…I'm sorry," he chokes, but the man is far past living. "I'm so sorry! What have I done?!"_

_The man's grimace turns into a bloody smirk. He utters a dark, weak laugh. "Hah…it would seem as if you've killed me. My blood…is on your hands now. Never f-forget that. Live with it forever," he laughs again. "Oh, how you __**fucking deserve**__ that on your conscience. And oh, how you don't…" The man from across the Danube lifts himself as much as he can, using his free hand to clutch the back of Animus' neck and pull him close, pull him down so that his ragged breath is directly against his face. "And still, I'll never forget you and your damned smile…I'll never forget anything, you forsaken __**bastard**__." It is then that their lips meet in a final kiss. The man dies under his mouth. It had been the longest he'd ever smiled at him, and the most he'd ever said at one time._

The scene suddenly skips to Animus holding a child in his arms.

_He smiles down at the brown-haired child, and looks back towards the woman, who looks broken. Tired. "What shall we name him, my love?"_

_"Heracles," she breathes. "Now p-please, let me see my son." Gently, he hands her the child. Animus leaves to check on the Egyptian woman who has born him another son._

_That night, the woman flees with her child. She flees to Greece and brings her child into the safety of the Karpusi family. Animus would later find and kill her. He lost both his sons in a matter of weeks—Gupta to another family in Egypt. But many years later, he was to have Sumina. Sumina, whose birth name was Amalia._

Animus seems shaken. He has slid from the wall down onto the floor, staring up at the swirling clouds that reveal his past. Tears have stained his cheeks. By the time the last scene comes up, he is sobbing audibly.

_An army lies beneath his feet. Singlehandedly, he has slain them. He has taken their souls and their abilities, made them his own. And his mind is fractured beyond repair. The world slowly slips into darkness, slowly, when he slips the poison within Sumina's drink…_

When the clouds clear and the high-rise ceiling is visible once more, Animus has laid his head back against the wall. His eyes are shut tight. Malorus gazes at him with a certain sense of satisfaction. "Now what else have you come to take from me, huh? There's nothing _left_! _I am empty!!_"

"Far from empty," Ivan remarks. "No, no – more so, filled with all the wrong things."

"Be silent, you cold-hearted coward!" Animus shrieks, but he stays still. Ivan draws back, looking away.

Malorus looks around at them all before it rears its head back and opens its mouth wide, a terrible shriek echoing around the walls. Ivan covers his ears once more. Arthur falls to the ground again, clutching his shoulder, and covers his head entirely. With the blink of an eye, Malorus snaps its head forward and its tongue punctures Animus' chest. A ghastly scream echoes through the room. Animus begins the crumble. Animus begins to bleed from the pores of his skin. Animus is a bloody mass of bones that Malorus devours whole and adds to its collection of those who have disrupted the balance of the world. With its appetite satiated, Malorus slithers across the air and folds its wings back against its shadowy, bulky body, rushing forward at a frightening speed.

The air before it rips itself apart. Malorus disappears into its undesirable home in another world altogether with a final scream, the ripped air sealing itself up in a slow manner after its master slips through. Only then does Ivan fall to his knees. He sinks to the floor with a grunt, only because he does not know what to think. "Dear God, what just happened?" he whispers to himself, petting the mirror's handle in his pocket. Ivan shakily pulls the object forward and recounts all that has passed to Yao.

Arthur hesitantly lifts his head. He releases a breath when neither Malorus nor Animus meets his gaze. But disappointment soon overtakes him. Despite his doubts, despite that he has told himself that he would find nothing, he still finds that dark feeling still lingers there, and he wants to break down and cry for all the years he refused to do so. Instead, he hangs his head and whispers, "I should have never even thought…"

And Heracles hoists Kiku onto his back. "He must be exhausted," he murmurs, mostly to himself, though Ivan and Arthur both hear. "He's been out cold since Malorus entered this dimension. Now come on – it is time we returned to the townspeople."

They reach town in an hour or so. When they do, the townspeople cheer. The Rebellion lasted. No one had died, and for this, they are thankful. Freedom at last comes without the loss of innocent souls. Ivan, Arthur and Heracles are taken back to Roderich's house, where Kiku is laid down on a bed for rest. Arthur's shoulder is patched up. Heracles closes his opened eyes. They sit around him. One by one, people visit. Ivan does not listen to many of them. Most just thank and congratulate them, returning to the party outside right after they have. When Gilbert enters the room, however, he pays attention.

Gilbert leans against the doorway. He is frowning. "Good job, guys. Damn, I envy you. Must have been fun to have taken him down."

"Not really," Arthur waves him off. "It wasn't like we got to knock him out, or anything."

"Still." Gilbert stares at Kiku's motionless body. "…I can't believe I'm still alive," he adds, eyes shut. "I can't believe I'm still here."

"Be thankful you are, like so many others." Arthur looks at him firmly.

"Damn, am I unlucky! Damn it all…damn it… Ich wünsche, dass jemand mich getötet hatte…" Gilbert turns and walks away from them at a slow pace.

They are all silent for a while. Gilbert had brought a stifling blanket of silence upon them. The only thing that breaks it is Arthur's sudden rise from his seat. With his hand trembling, he reaches out to touch Kiku's cheek. His eyes fly wide open as he feels the cold surface of the Japanese man's skin. "Kiku," his tone is urgent. "Oh, no…"

Heracles stands immediately. "What?" He looks directly at Arthur, who shakes his head and sinks back into his chair slowly.

"Kiku…open his eyes. Open them. Tell me what they look like."

Heracles does so. Ivan straightens in his chair. "They're glassy. And…I…can't see the pupils."

"_Fuck_, no!" Arthur lashes out with his foot, clutching at his hair.

"What?!" Arthur's panic has infected Heracles as well, whose eyes are just as wide as Arthur's were.

"S-Sumina's soul…not all of it was transferred to him, was it? It was missing a portion. A whole soul is needed, but once you summon Malorus, you can't stop it…Malorus will take that whole soul, even if it has to fracture another. M-Malorus…it…it took part of _Kiku's_ soul!" Arthur turns his head away, breathing heavily. "Kiku…he's…he might as well be dead!"

And Ivan can't ever imagine Heracles looking so stricken before in the entire time he's known him.

____

**Translations:**

"Ich wünsche, dass jemand mich getötet hatte." –I wish someone had killed me. (It should translate similarly, if I got it correct.)


	13. Restoration

Sumina

-chapter eleven-

Restoration

**A/N:** Alright, we're to the final chapter…I bet you guys will be either really mad or really sad. But hopefully not for long! Thank you all so much for your support! I just cannot thank you guys enough, really. It's impossible to put it all into words…but I will say this—I've enjoyed the ride so, so much!

**Rating:** T, still…because there's some swearing in this chapter.

---

Arthur and Ivan had left the room to leave Heracles to his grieving.

_"…Out."_

_"Don't be unreasonable, Heracles," Ivan begins "There must be something we can do—"_

_"__**Out! Get the fuck out, right now!**__"_

_Arthur and Ivan had dashed from the room and closed the door behind themselves, while Heracles fell to his knees and broke down, with his Gods as witnesses._

"The poor man," Arthur mutters, ear pressed against the door. "He just keeps pacing…" They had listened to him get up and move about for nearly an hour.

"Is there any way we could fix it?" Ivan dreads having to tell Yao of their recent casualty.

"Perhaps. It would…take a big sacrifice, however. Nothing people would be willing to sacrifice for a man they barely knew."

"Well, then. Heracles will not be the only one crying tonight."

"Oh, Dear Lord," Arthur sighs shakily, running a hand through his hair. "This is not turning out well for any of us, is it?"

"Not at all," Ivan agrees.

"…Wait," Arthur turns back to the door, squinting. "Do you hear that…?"

"Hear what?"

"It sounds like…chanting." Arthur's eyes widen. "What the hell is he doing in there?!" He begins banging on the door. "Heracles! _Heracles?!_ Open the door, right now!" The faint chanting that Ivan cannot hear continues without disruption. "Damn it!"

And then, from within, a scream of pure agony. There is an internal sound of ghostly separation, a bright light flashing under the door. Arthur beats against the door wildly. "Heracles! What the hell did you do?!"

Ivan pushes Arthur aside harshly—to which the Brit stumbles to catch his footing before he hits the floor—and kicks it open with ease. He walks in; Arthur following close after, only to find Heracles half-collapsed over Kiku on the bed, fingers tangled in short black locks. "What happened?" Ivan looks at Arthur, who furrows his brows and rushes over to Heracles.

Arthur checks his pulse. Steady as ever. He forces Heracles' eyes open. Normal. Just as he begins to move Heracles' body onto a chair, the Greek man groans and struggles to his feet, pushing the Englishman away. Heracles sways a bit as he claws for something stable. His hand meets Ivan's coat, so he clings to the Russian for just a moment before stumbling away, falling onto his knees at the side of the bed once more. He seems content to stay here. As he holds Kiku's hand between his own, the man on the bed stirs.

"Mn…?" Kiku's eyes flutter open. He looks to be dazed. "Wha…what happened? Heracles-san…"

Heracles grins sleepily. "Nothing, Kiku…nothing…" And he drifts off into peaceful sleep, with Kiku looking at him, before the dark-haired man lays his head back upon the pillow and stares up at the ceiling.

Arthur clicks his tongue. "He can explain later. The most important thing is that you're conscious, Kiku," a great weight seems to leave his shoulders, but an even greater one continues to plague him…

Ivan simply smiles, but not for long. "Good. You go back to sleep now."

Kiku nods gently. "I believe I will. For just a minute," he closes his eyes "At least…until Heracles wakes up…" His breathing becomes soft.

An hour or so passes before either stirs; Heracles wakes first, which surprises Ivan. The Greek man rouses Kiku, who slowly wakes, sitting up in bed. Heracles, though weak, insists on helping Kiku sit up. Arthur forces Heracles into a chair and glares at him. "Explain. Now."

"I did what I had to, in order to let Kiku live," Heracles' eyes are shut tight, but he does not fall asleep. "I share a portion of my soul with him now."

"What?!" Arthur glares. "You need a sacrifice for that, you twat! And…and…!"

Heracles raises his hand up to stop the Englishman from continuing. His eyes open. Their former glow has left them. "I know. I cannot stray from his side any longer. We must be in close proximity, I know. As for my sacrifice? I gave up the connection the Gods gave me. I felt as though their blessing had run its course. It's time I learned to take things in stride," he pauses to smile in an amused mannerism, "and to gain my own forms of knowledge."

Kiku looks down at his hands guiltily. "You…you didn't have to, Heracles-san…I didn't mean to upset you—"

"No, no—you made me realize that I cannot go by with what I've had all my life any longer." He smiles fondly over at Kiku. "And I am glad to be able to spend the rest of my long life with you. If I had not done this…surely, I would have died of grief."

Kiku blushes faintly as he holds his hand out to the side, reaching. Heracles takes it, gives it a gentle, reassuring squeeze. "Heracles-san," he says gently. This is all that he has to say.

"Kiku," Heracles' voice is filled with fondness. He stares at Kiku, smiling. After a while, he speaks up again. "Why don't you two go out and join the celebration? It will be going on for the rest of the night, from what I've heard." His knowing glance is enough incentive for Ivan to drag Arthur from the room, out of the house, and into the night air.

"I don't want to go celebrate," he growls, whilst among the crowd around the bonfire, sitting on a log functioning like a bench with Ivan. "I'd like to go home now, thank you very much."

"Why? So you can lock yourself up in your tower and ignore the outside world, too engrossed in your own grief?" Ivan gives him a pointed glare. "I know how that works, and it doesn't help anyone. Not even yourself."

Behind them, people are dancing wildly, cheerfully. Toris and Feliks sit next to one another near the bonfire, Feliks clinging to Toris and speaking happily, Toris listening with a small amount of exasperation evident in his expression, otherwise politely smiling and laughing on occasion.

"I know it doesn't," Arthur turns his head away, glaring at his feet. "But I still do it. I don't _want_ to face the world. There's no reason for me to anymore. There's nothing out there for me."

Ivan sighs with frustration. He seems to just give up. "There's nothing out in the world for me but painful memories, but I still have to go there."

"Yet you ignore those painful memories," Arthur is looking at Ivan's hand. "And that ring is the only reason why you can, now. Otherwise, you would have killed yourself and hadn't even known it."

A wave of anger rushes from Ivan's body. His aura has flared up, fanned by Arthur's words. Fearing for his life momentarily, the Englishman stands and begins to back away. Ivan stands as well to give chase. The murder of Arthur Kirkland is halted, however, by a loud voice from behind.

"Arthur…?" It hesitates, before getting louder. "…Arthur…?"

Arthur spins about, ready to snap at the person, mouth open. It hangs there, with his eyes wide and stuck that way. No sound comes from his throat. He simply stares at the man in front of him with disbelief. A man with bright blue eyes like the expansive sky above their heads and messy hair the color of dark sand, a single strand sticking up, pushing his glasses up… The man is youthful, dressed in jeans and a simple white T-shirt, blue and red hoodie, over this a leather bomber jacket, collar covered in black fur. He looks right back at Arthur.

It takes several minutes for Arthur to register the sight in front of him. When he has, he stammers quietly, "Al-Alfred…?"

The young man grins widely, opening his arms wide. "Arthur," he says it warmly, with all the affection in the world.

"Alfred!" Arthur's eyes glisten as he rushes forward, jumping into those wide-open arms and throwing his own around the blond's neck, heedless of the small height difference between the two and the thought that such actions may or may not be embarassing in public. Those arms wrap around Arthur's chest and hold him close, unwilling to let him go.

"Arthur, Jesus, I missed you," Alfred buries his nose in Arthur's neck.

Arthur whaps Alfred's back very suddenly, pulling away to glare at him. "You bastard…!"

"Ow!" Alfred whines, "What'd I do?!" But Arthur does not explain, because he cannot speak any more than he has, whispering a steady mantra of the American's name, the same cry of, 'you bastard…!', occasionally whacking his back, but rubbing the same place afterward. Ivan finds that this continues for quite some time before Alfred puts Arthur down.

"I'll just…leave," Ivan begins to walk off, allowing the two privacy so that they might catch up near the bonfire. The weight Arthur once felt on his shoulders has been passed to his own.

____

It takes several hours for Arthur to return to their borrowed rooms. Alfred follows close by him, talking animatedly about some nonsense. Arthur half-smiles, half-smirks at the slightly taller American, hands clutching at the jacket worn about his shoulders. When they appear through the doorway, Ivan raises his eyebrow at Arthur.

Arthur tilts his gaze down to his shoes, pulling Alfred's bomber jacket closer to himself. "I was cold…Alfred forced it on me," he mumbles.

"And you're not cold anymore," Alfred grins.

"Yes, yes…now what is it that you came back for? I thought for sure you would be out all night," Ivan fixes the two with a strange look—one that makes both squirm uncomfortably.

"W-We're not _that_ close!" Arthur stammers, glaring. Alfred seems slightly disappointed when he says this.

"Of course you're not," Ivan moves from the window to sit down in a chair. "I was speaking with Yao—"

"Who's Yao?" Alfred interrupts, brows furrowed, but grinning. Ivan glares at him.

"Oh yes," Arthur looks up at Alfred, then back at Ivan. "Speaking of Yao…I believe I can help you with that now."

Ivan was sure his expression turned hopeful. "How so?"

"Tomorrow," Arthur nods, turning to push Alfred into the hallway, towards his room. "Tomorrow."

Ivan sighed heavily. "Tomorrow?" He was not so sure he wanted to wait that long.

____

In Arthur's room, both he and Alfred sat upon the bed. "Alfred," Arthur murmured, looking at him carefully. "You've grown up so much. I remember when you only came up to my hips." He chuckles, patting Alfred's broad chest.

"You look a little older, too," Alfred teases, rubbing under Arthur's eyes. Arthur frowns and swats his hands away.

"You haven't told me what you've been up to these past years," Arthur looks at Alfred hopefully.

"If you wanna know so bad," Alfred sighs, smiling. "When Animus took me…I was taken to his prison. He had guards posted outside my cell with guns, so there was no way I could force my way out." He swallows thickly. "I thought for sure I'd be dead within the day. But for some reason…the guards had left. Some girl had dismissed them…and she was opening my cell. She introduced herself as Sumina, and took me into the nearby town. There, she gave me a job and told me how to go under the radar. I wanted to help. Sumina wouldn't let me come with her, so I joined the Rebellion. But damn, they didn't do a _thing_! They didn't help the people at all! So when Sumina died, I decided to carry on her work." Alfred smiles sadly. "The girl was nice, and strong, too. I wanted to make sure all her hard work didn't go to waste. So I took up her work, like I said. I would sneak into Animus' prison under his house and free the people kept there, so that Animus wouldn't become any stronger."

"Mm," Arthur hums, a look of pure thought clouding his usually-clear eyes. "Sounds admirable. Like a true hero." When Alfred grins at him, Arthur smirks.

"Ya think so?" Alfred leans closer to Arthur. "Because I hope that's what you're thinking."

Arthur's smirk only widens. "Oh? Well…it's not."

"What are you thinking of, then?" Alfred frowns, eyebrows drawn together in a slight scowl.

"N-Nothing you need to know," Arthur's cheeks color faintly. "Forget about it."

Alfred's scowl only deepens. "Now I _really_ want to know! Just tell me!"

With a sigh, Arthur's cheeks only become a more noticeable shade of pink. "Fine," he glares, "but only because you'll keep bothering me about it." Alfred sits up, excited. "I'm thinking…of you. More specifically, how much I missed you." He moves closer to Alfred now, just an inch or so apart. "How I won't let you go again. God, you don't know how sorry I am."

"What? For what you said before…_that_? It happened such a long time ago…it doesn't sting anymore, Arthur. Don't be sorry. I know you didn't mean it." Alfred moves closer as well, until he can practically feel Arthur's tongue flick over his lips and wet them.

"And yet it still hurts me," Arthur sighs. "But I don't want it to hurt anymore. I don't…"

"Arthur?" Alfred calls out gently, laying his hand atop Arthur's.

"Yes?" Arthur's voice is barely a whisper.

"I want you to kiss me," Alfred murmurs, eyelids fluttering shut. With a very small smile, Arthur leans forward to comply.

____

Ivan could barely sleep that night. He had been too excited and far too paranoid. But when he had, he found that no nightmares plagued him. In fact, no dreams drowned him at all. He found his mind a dark nothingness that night. When he woke, he found no injuries. Instantly, he jumped from his bed, dressed himself, and went to wake the others.

Heracles and Kiku were nestled in the same bed. Kiku used Heracles' shoulder as a pillow. With a hardened, bitter call of, "Wake up," Ivan wasted no time in moving to Arthur's room. There, he found Arthur among the many pillows, most of his body covered by the thick white down comforter. "Wake up," he called again, and Arthur lazily stretched out on the bed, flinging the covers back and half-sitting, holding his upper body up by his good arm. Alfred's head rested on his stomach, arms wrapped around the Englishman's middle. Ivan raised a brow at this.

"He fell asleep on me, and he's too damn heavy to move," Arthur mumbles, too sleepy to be embarrassed. "That, and I didn't have the heart to move the big git."

Alfred yawns and lifts his head, rubbing at his eyes. He sits up and grabs his glasses from the nightstand, slipping them on. "Mornin'," he directs this at Arthur, who murmurs his own 'Good morning' to the American.

"You promised me you'd explain this all today," Ivan jumps right into the problem on his mind.

"Jesus, let me wake up first," Arthur snaps. Alfred snickers a bit, but stops once Ivan glares at him.

"Fine, then. After breakfast." Ivan trots off at a pace similar to what his heart beats out against his chest. He eats very little at breakfast, while others clear their plates.

And after breakfast, Arthur keeps his so-called 'promise', though the word was never uttered.

"_Now_ will you explain?"

Arthur rolls his eyes, sighing. "Yes, yes, I'll explain now! The only way to break that mirror is through force. While it looks fragile, it is extremely durable. Only someone with inhuman strength could break it."

"And?" Ivan taps his foot impatiently.

"And it just so happens that the one man I made capable of breaking the mirror is no longer 'long gone'." Arthur looks at Alfred. "Correct?"

"Yup!" Alfred grins energetically. "I can crack open that mirror and help the poor guy out, easy!"

Ivan pulls the mirror from his pocket, hand shaking. He is in disbelief. Kiku and Heracles both watch with curiosity—Kiku more so with hope—as Alfred takes the mirror and twirls it in his hand.

"Go ahead," Arthur urges the American to take on the task.

With a grin, Alfred raises the mirror up…and throws it to the ground with a deafening crack.

The mirror cracks and shatters and the metal and gems dissolve into nowhere. Around the space, the air crackles with energy. It is several seconds later that Wang Yao is tossed into the world, dazed and stunned, standing up with slight difficulty. His hair is let loose and tangled, his clothes wrinkled and loose on his skinny frame.

"Yao!" Kiku cries out, standing from his seat near the wall and rushing over to hold his older brother upright.

Yao embraces his brother in a tight embrace, crying, "Kiku!"

And Ivan can only stand there, staring. His mouth has gone dry. With a parched voice, Ivan calls out faintly, "Yao…"

He is not recognized until Yao pulls away from his conversation with Kiku in a language foreign to Ivan's ears—he does not care to identify it. Yao brushes his hair over one shoulder, tying it with a red ribbon, heedless of the tangles in his messed hair. "Oh, Ivan…thank you so much," his voice is small, quiet. As if he doesn't know how to carry on.

Ivan fights back his strong desire to pull him close and hold him there. Would it be right to do that to someone you're just seeing in person for the first time? Yet he still wanted to, no matter how much he tried to ignore the desire. He would ignore it. "You're welcome, Yao. Always welcome."

Instantly, the conversation switched to catching up. It was mostly between Kiku and Yao—they had the most to speak about, and were the most separate. Kiku told him all about home and his relationship with Heracles, and how he and Heracles could not leave one another anymore. Yao seemed angry at first, but Kiku convinced him that Heracles was not a bad man, and that he shouldn't worry.

Once catching up was finished? Everyone decided to part ways. Arthur and Alfred were the first to say their good-byes. Alfred with an easygoing grin and Arthur with a very small smile, "It was nice to meet you all…even if you _did_ almost kill me," Arthur snapped the last remark at Ivan, who rolled his eyes.

"Wow, he almost killed you?" Alfred looked genuinely surprised.

"I just said it," Arthur glared.

When they had finished, they walked from the home side-by-side.

After that, Kiku and Heracles prepared their things. While they had left the room, Ivan took the opportunity presented to him. "Yao?"

Yao turned to look at him. "Yes, Ivan?"

"Where will you be going?"

Yao smiles brilliantly, "I'll be returning home, aru. I miss it so much!" Ivan's heart sank. He was sure that his expression had fallen to match the same sorrow in his heart, because Yao continued, "I'll keep in touch with you, Ivan…don't look so sad, aru."

"It won't be the same," Ivan whispers harshly, looking away. "I don't want to just get letters from you, Yao."

"Ivan—"

"Would you understand if I told you I didn't want to let you go? It feels like you're ripping my heart in two, Yao."

"Ivan—"

"And I don't understand why. I knew it would be this way. I knew you would want to go home. Yet I'm still disappointed." Ivan's voice is broken beyond repair. He can see that Yao at least feels guilty, as the man's eyes begin to glass over with tears.

"Ivan, I'm sorry…" he practically whispers, head hung. Neither will look at the other.

Kiku and Heracles return from their room soon after. They link their arms, and Yao grabs Kiku's other. "Goodbye, Braginsky-san. I'll never forget any of this," Kiku smiles brilliantly, and Heracles nods in agreement, Kiku having spoken everything for him. With a final look at Yao, they disappear.

And Ivan buries his face in his hands and wills the tears in his eyes to _go away_, because he knows he's lost something today, and he knows he didn't do enough to keep it. Yet he feels as though he should accept it. He feels as though it's better for Yao, at the least. With all his things gathered, Ivan leaves the town of triumphant rebels behind and sets off down the long road alone.

He looks up at the sky and closes his eyes. The wind slowly becomes colder as he travels further north. It stings his face—a familiar sensation he hates.

_Along this road, I think of you…_

_I think of all the things that have come to pass._

_Would things have been different if I had just reached out and held you when I had that chance?_

_Truly, I hope that you are happy._

_Because…through all the pain…I still smile every time I think of you._

**SUMINA**

**-End-**


	14. Towards Happiness

Sumina

-epilogue, part one-

Towards Happiness

**A/N:** Hahaha…you didn't think I'd end it like _that_, did you?! I'm sure you didn't, since the story didn't say 'complete'. But still. I couldn't end the story with everyone being all sad, since that wasn't the entire point of the story. Really, this epilogue and the three following it are all for you guys—the readers! So enjoy to your hearts' contents, because I didn't intend for this to go up in rating!

**Rating:** M, for…sex, to be blunt. Yaoi sex (though I guess that's pretty obvious, huh?).

**Pairing:** IvanxYao/RussiaxChina…the main pairing of the story. Finally, it shows up!

---

~One Month Later~

Ivan sits at his small dining room table in his small home, an emptied shot glass dangling from his hands. Half of the bottle of vodka he bought that morning was emptied within an hour, and by this time in the afternoon, only a single drop was left. Still, he did not feel his head swimming, or the delightful tingling in his muscles. Still, he could not remember his mother's face. Still, Natalia haunted him. He suddenly wished he had bought another bottle. Spread before him on the table were all the letters Yao had ever written to him—five in total. Not one of them had he ever had the strength to answer. It was far too painful.

_"Ivan,_

_How are you? You haven't written me back. It's been a month. Are you mad with me? I understand if you are, but please, I just want to hear back from you…I miss hearing from you."_

"What a joke," Ivan snorted, shaking his head. "Such a liar, Wang Yao." He swept the letters to the ground. Sumina's ring glinted in the light hanging from the ceiling. From the front of the house, the doorbell rings. Ivan stands quickly, rushing over to it. Once he's there, he unlocks the numerous locks on the door, ripping it open. "Yes? Hello?" His voice is irritable, with a small tinge of fear. No one ever visits him at his home.

The sight that meets his eyes catches the breath in his throat.

"Ivan!" Yao smiles a wide, bright smile.

"Y-Yao…?"

Yao grips Ivan's arm. "Yes. So you still remember me after all?" Ivan slowly reaches out to grab Yao's arm. The touch is gentle at first, but tightens gradually, until Yao calls out, "Aiyah! L-Let me go, aru!" Ivan tugs Yao through the door, slams it shut, and pushes him against the nearest wall with a loud thud.

"Did you think I'd _forget_?" Ivan hisses, close to Yao's face, eyes narrowed. His voice is low, on the verge of sadness, hanging over the edge of anger. "How could I _ever_ forget, Yao? It's the only thing I've thought about since then."

"I-Ivan," Yao trembles slightly, staring up at the taller Russian fearfully. "P-Please, you're hurting me, aru!"

"You hurt _me_, Yao!" He releases the pinned man and turns, looking elsewhere, stepping away a small distance. "What makes you think you're welcome in my home after that?!"

Yao hugs himself, trembling still. "I'm s-sorry…Ivan…"

"Go away. Get out!" Ivan sits at the foot of the narrow stairway leading to the second floor.

"Ivan—"

"**_GET OUT!_**" Ivan is shaking like a leaf, gripping the sides of his head, forcing his tears back. His efforts are fruitless. A long, heavy silence – aside from Ivan's occasional sounds of sorrow – falls over the home. Ivan believes he is alone, before arms wrap about his body, enveloping him in comforting warmth, a loving embrace…something he hasn't felt in many, many years.

"Ivan, I won't leave you," Yao says with a stubborn, steady voice, rubbing his back soothingly. "I didn't come here to be turned away, aru. I came here to stay."

Ivan's head snapped up. "Wh-What?" His tear-stained face becomes visible, and for a moment, he regrets it. But Yao raises his silk sleeve and wipes away the wetness with a tender motion. Ivan leans into the hand wherever it travels.

"I'm here to stay, Ivan. I…" Yao pauses, lips pressed together. "…It took me a while, but I realized something was off. A part of me felt missing, aru. Whenever I thought of you, my heart ached." Yao's arms slide away from Ivan's body. He feels horribly cold and self-conscious without them there, but he listens closely nonetheless. "And I thought, 'What's missing, then? What haven't I had in my life for a while?' Well…you were the answer, aru. I don't like the feeling, of something being missing. I want to stay here, in your sight, with you…even if you won't accept anything further than friendship."

"Yao," Ivan's head is turned to the side. "You mean this? It's not a trick?" There is a tone of disbelief in his voice. His trust is missing.

"I wouldn't say it if I didn't mean it, aru," Yao responds steadily, nodding his head. Slowly, Ivan stands, approaches Yao, and looks at him directly in the eye.

"If that is the case," Ivan wraps his arms around Yao's slim body, "then I accept you," he lifts Yao – who struggles in surprise – so that their faces are even, close enough that their noses brush together, "and every part of you, and everything you have to offer." And he kisses Yao, the electric sensation running through his body, traveling from every inch of his own to every inch of Yao's, holding him close, never letting him go.

~Three Months Later~

Yao rearranges the sunflowers in the small pot, pushed to the furthest corner near the window in Ivan's tiny room. He smiles at them. "Like small little suns, aru," he touches the petals affectionately. Their edges tickle the tips of his fingers delicately, causing quiet laughter to bubble in his throat. When he has finished admiring the warm yellow of the tall-stalked flowers, Yao pulls a red ribbon from his pocket, to tie his loose hair back in a neat, manageable pony tail.

He is stopped suddenly by a strong arm wrapping around his abdomen and pulling him against the broad chest with a quiet 'Oof!' His silken hair is brushed over one shoulder to reveal the soft skin of his neck, attacked by a warm mouth that kisses, bites and licks skillfully, teasingly. A deep desire is held back within the small actions. It is more so their hidden message that raises the moan from Yao's lips. The red tie is dropped to the ground, forgotten.

"Yao, come back to bed," Ivan begins to pull him back towards the bed that dominates most of the small room.

"It's m-morning, aru," Yao shivers and struggles slightly "Why should I go back to bed?"

"Because," Ivan continues to tease his neck. "The bed is warm and it's far easier to ravish you there."

"Nn! Ivan, st-stop!" He is pushed back upon the soft mattress.

Ivan poises himself just above Yao, growling, "Why'd you have to put clothes on?" He fumbles with the buttons on the shirt, hissing angrily once in a while. With finality, he speaks again, "Screw it." Ivan grabs the edges of the shirt and rips it open, buttons flicked off. Some hit the floor--their pitter-patter curled his lips into a smirk.

"Ivan! Y-You just ruined my shirt, aru! St-sto-aah…" Yao trails off, moaning as a tongue makes contact with the skin of his collar bone, trailing kisses and nips down, dipping his tongue into Yao's navel, stopping once it reaches the cloth barrier. Ivan frowns at Yao's pants and quickly tugs them off. When no undergarments meet his gaze, he raises an eyebrow and looks up at Yao, his smirk having returned. Yao flushes. "I-I was tired, aru…"

"That doesn't matter," Ivan grins as he lifts a leg up over a shoulder, kissing the inner thigh. His hair tickles the sensitive skin there. Yao squirms, breath coming out in short gasps, anticipating the places those kisses will travel, the sensations they'll raise. "I think it's very…sexy." Ivan smiles as he bites at the skin that meets his mouth.

Slowly, Ivan's actions begin to get to Yao. He feels the heat raise in his body, and the way Ivan smiles close to his crotch, teasing him further, to the point he writhes and begs. Ivan's lips travel along his body, all around, over every last bit it can reach, until there is nothing left but to trail back down and up again, the cycle Ivan takes to get Yao flustered and blushing. A tightness forms between Ivan's legs, pushing insistently upward against the cloth trap of his boxers. He growls under his breath and struggles, rolling from the bed, until he is standing. Yao watches through half-lidded eyes as Ivan tugs his boxers off, over his erection, and moves above him once more in what seems one quick, rough movement. The bed springs creak beneath Ivan's added weight.

Without warning, as usual, Ivan's fingers slip inside Yao. "Ah!"

Ivan is grinning as his fingers move about, stretching, stroking, probing. Beneath him, Yao is twitching with pleasure. "Is this enjoyable for you?"

"What a-ah…horrible question," Yao pants, "you're a t-terrible…nn…man."

Ivan pauses all together, looking up at the man beneath him on the bed. "Answer, or I'll leave you like this."

Yao turns his head away, cheeks coloring a dark shade of red. "Y-Yes…" When the movement continues, Yao opens his mouth wide and allows soft sounds of pleasure to float forth again. It is only when Ivan begins to stroke his erection that Yao's cries increase in volume. He begins to feel mounting desire that is equivalent to the one causing it. "_Ivan!_"

The Russian nuzzles his head against Yao's sweat-slicked belly. "I guess I should stop teasing you." He withdraws his fingers and positions himself between Yao's legs, sliding in with a loud grunt of heady pleasure. Warmth and restriction push him to the extremes of self-control. Ivan finds it tricky to balance between not following the urge to thrust into Yao with abandon, recklessly and thoughtless, and trying not to listen to the noise his partner is making. Yao calls out loudly, having forgotten his usual vocal control, asking desperately for Ivan to move, to make him feel good.

Ivan complies with a loud call of his own feelings of pleasure as he thrusts once, slowly, getting himself deeper within the delicious body beneath him. When he feels there is little to no waiting left, no more space to fill, he moves back…and rocks forward. Back…and forward. Back…and forward. A slow, easy pace meant to tease his lover, who predictably begins to prattle on breathlessly about how terrible Ivan is, and to "Move faster, aah, th-this is torture!" He only speeds up when he feels his own desire starting to fall out of check, slipping from his fingers. It is then that Yao becomes louder, clutching to the previously-crumpled sheets desperately, tongue disabled and far too clumsy for intelligent use.

Perhaps a better angle, he thinks, will make Yao louder. While thought is hazy, he can still manage it well enough to think like this. Or, it is simply because the thought has to do with such actions taking place within his bedroom. Ivan grabs Yao's hips and tilts them up slightly, moving his own body to meet their new height, angling downward. His suspicions prove correct at the particularly loud scream he receives.

He had done something good, it seemed. "_Th-There!_ Nnnah," Yao's voice strains against the spasm-like mewls he emits without thought, without restraint, slipping past his lips as if it were normal for him to do such things.

"Ah, so I've found it," Ivan hits the same spot once more. "What a wonderful little thing it is." And wasn't it? It brought about the pleasure that Yao felt, which in turn brought to Ivan his own pleasure, joined them together at the height of it all, in their carnal desires being filled, making them human, making them content and satiated until the next time they desired it once again.

"J-Just _move_, aru! _Ahn…_"

A chuckle rises in his throat, melted together with a husky sound of pure bliss. The Russian's hips begin to work twice as quickly, twice as roughly, forcing Yao against the bed, springs groaning their protest against their mistreatment, drowned out by the lovely sounds his partner makes. He more so _senses_ the tightening of the body beneath him, _knows_ it to happen before it does, than he does _feel _it. It happens, his preparedness for what's to come, prior to the amazing sensation of the hot clenching of muscles around his erection. A low, guttural sound escapes his throat at the same time Yao utters a high-pitched noise. Soon after, warmth splashes forth in the form of thick white fluid on his chest, hands, Yao's thighs and a portion of his lower belly, and he knows he will not last long as he presses closer to the moving body beneath him, thrusts several more times before he finally cries out in a desultory fashion, head tilted up and hips still moving despite having filled the hotness with his own white heat. When his gasping breath returns to him, he removes himself thoughtfully (Yao gives a few words of thanks), falls upon the equally-tired lover beneath him not-so-thoughtfully.

"You're heavy," Yao complains feebly, attempting to shove the heavier man off, his heart not quite in it.

"Too bad," Ivan answers, "I'm tired."

"So am I, aru!"

Ivan grins at him, yawns and rolls off. "Fine, fine, I'll move…"

Yao sits up (his respiration is still amiss, Ivan notes), looks over at him. "Are you going back to bed?"

"I'm tired again. Yes."

Yao slips from the bed, pulling on a few articles of clothing before grabbing the covers and dragging them over his lover's bare body. "I'll be downstairs, then." He places a platonic kiss to Ivan's forehead before disappearing through the doorframe. Ivan's eyes slide shut while he smiles.

_____

He wakes up later in the day, around noontime. Putting on some clothing, he travels downstairs to find that Yao has begun making a light meal for both of them. He traps Yao between the kitchen counter and himself, inhaling the smell of exotic scents Yao bathes in mixed with sweat and sex, arms wrapped about him. Yao does not struggle against the embrace—instead, he begins to move, setting up the plates on the dining room table, Ivan too stubborn to break the grip.

They enjoy their meal in companionable silence, sitting side-by-side.

They wash the dishes, standing next to one another.

They relax on the small sofa for most of the evening.

They make dinner together, never too far away.

And when the daylight has been wasted away, they head upstairs to their bedroom.

"Yao," Ivan breathes quietly, running his hands through silken hair, "you are beautiful…"

"Mm," Yao is turned away from Ivan, eyes shut, with his back drawn close to the broad chest.

"I love you." Ivan's fingers convulse around the ends of Yao's hair—clutch, release, tangle, clutch, release, tangle—as he waits for a response. Yao's eyes have snapped open. When some time passes without one, Ivan rambles on. "I think I always have. You were still pretty, even in that mirror. It's strange to say that I've always loved you since the beginning, isn't it? But I think it's true. I love you, Yao. I love you."

"Ivan," Yao sighs, rolling over so that he is facing Ivan, "If it's how you feel, then it's all that matters, right? It takes time to fall in love…but sometimes people just know who they'll fall in love with from the very beginning." He takes a long pause, in which he presses their foreheads together, noses touching. "I love you, too, Ivan." They kiss. As they fall into the bed sheets for sweet sleep, Ivan slips Sumina's ring from his finger, places it in the nightstand's drawer.

It is on the long journey, towards happiness, that they have learned to love.

**SUMINA**

**-Epilogue, Part One-**

**END**


	15. Home Again

Sumina

-epilogue, part two-

Home Again

**A/N:** Epilogue Two! This one is short…I know, how sad. And it has no fan service for you guys (at least that's worth an M-rating). That's even more depressing than it being short. See you guys in the next Epilogue!

**Rating:** T, for implied sex…but I have to keep it at M because of the first Epilogue.

**Pairing:** HeraclesxKiku/GreecexJapan

---

~Four Months Later~

_Dear Yao,_

_How have you been? Heracles and I plan to visit you sometime soon. How is the weather in Russia at this time?_

_Our home is as restless as it always has been. I feel it is different though, somehow. It's no longer an empty kind of restlessness. It's almost as if things are back to normal, even though you do not live with us any longer. Everyone misses you dearly, but they cope well, and send you and Braginsky-san their best wishes._

_Heracles has asked me to visit his half-brother Gupta in Egypt with him. We should be leaving at the end of the month, when the weather will be nice there. The two have been writing letters to one another for the past month, and I believe they get along well. Both are very thoughtful. They are going to discuss what to do with the wealth left behind at Animus' death. He amassed a great sum of money…I can only imagine what can be done with such a fortune!_

_Have you heard from either Arthur-san or Alfred-san? They haven't written back to the letter I sent them two months ago. I can only hope they're very busy, rather than having found trouble on their way back home… Last I heard, they were halfway there, and Arthur wrote about how loud Alfred was. He told me he was glad to have the noise back, but that didn't mean he'd have nothing to say about it. Those two certainly are a strange couple, aren't they? Then again, there are stranger things in this world…_

_I hope Braginsky-san has been treating you well._

_Recently, I have come to the decision that I've fallen in love as well. Heracles is a nice man, isn't he? He holds my heart in his hands now. The best part is that I know he feels the same. Not a day goes by where he hasn't told me that he loves me. It's a beautiful feeling, when someone tells you they care for you on such a level, isn't it?_

_Again, I hope to see you soon, Yao._

_Love,_

_Kiku_

_____

Kiku smiles down at his letter as he folds it and places it meticulously in an envelope, sealing it up with piece of tape. On the front, he writes, "_Brother Yao_" in neat, flowing script. When he has done this, he tucks it into the desk's drawer, closing it as quietly as he can. He turns about to smile at the man sleeping on their bed.

Heracles is underneath the sheets, face-down on the pillow, lying on his belly. His eyes are shut in peaceful sleep. Kiku watches the rise and fall of his back as he breathes evenly, looking away only when he is reminded that Heracles is bare under the sheets. This reminder, in turn, jogs his memories of last night's tiring endeavor. His cheeks color at the very thought.

To clear his mind, Kiku shakes his head and shuts his eyes, frowning and blushing deeper as he finds that the thoughts of last night's deeds would not leave his mind. While his eyes are shut, Heracles wakes from his deep slumber, crawling towards the edge of the bed and stretching, making very little sound. "Good morning, Kiku."

"Ah! Heracles!" Kiku attempts to hide his heated face with the sleeve of his yukata. "Good morning…"

"Is something wrong?" Heracles frowns slightly.

"N-No," Kiku assures him, "nothing is wrong, Heracles. Don't worry about me." He turns around and grabs a folded yukata, handing it to Heracles, who looks at it with confusion, before realizing he is unclothed. With no complaint, Heracles puts the fabric on and ties a steady knot around his belly with the cloth belt.

"What time is it?" Heracles asks.

Kiku looks towards the opened paper doors, showing the garden with blossoming trees, sweet green grass, and a rocky pond, the sound of trickling water filling his ears. The sun is still high above the horizon. "Late morning."

"Mm," the Greek man's response leaves little more to say. Kiku crosses the small space left in the room and sits down next to Heracles on the edge of their bed, leaning his head on the other man's broad shoulder, hugging his arm. "Have you received any mail today?"

"No," Kiku frowns slightly. "I had hoped to receive something from Arthur-san, but it seems he's busy." He looks up at Heracles. "Do you think they're alright?"

"I would hope that they would be." His response is pensive. The two have always been careful speaking about the loss of Heracles' ability. Without it, Heracles claims to see the world in a different light. In a way, he feels that he forms connections with others far better than he had with it. Kiku was never sure if he should believe this or not. Thus, he spoke around the whole ordeal as much as possible.

"I have to wonder what they're up to."

Heracles gives him an odd smile. "Maybe we should focus on ourselves, rather than others?"

"Ah," Kiku looks off into the garden, as does Heracles. The two sit in silence. "Heracles, I have always wondered this…"

"Hm?"

"Did you know that Animus was your father?" Kiku speaks in a quiet, gentle tone, treading carefully. He looks up at Heracles' face to watch his reaction.

"A part of me always knew," Heracles begins, shutting his eyes. "And a part of me didn't want to believe it at first. But the Karpusi family took me in, raised me as their son. So I consider myself more a Karpusi than a descendant of a world-tyrant. When Animus found me the first time, I knew I couldn't deny my heritage any longer. Hiding away became second nature to me. It is good to say, though, that those times have passed, and I may spend my life with you."

"Heracles…" He doesn't say anything more. Kiku moves a little closer to his lover, watching the sun above the trees. Heracles' eyes open to view the rising sun as well.

The two were in no hurry to leave the warmth of their room under the sun above their heads.

**SUMINA**

**-Epilogue, Part Two-**

**END**


	16. Three Missed Letters

Sumina

-epilogue, part three-

Three Missed Letters

**A/N:** Okay, last Epilogue! And the end of the Sumina series, as it so happens. Hoho…I hope you guys enjoy this one. After this I'll be working on a three-shot along with finishing up COtS (Cadence of the Spring, for those of you that don't follow this one). But that's beside the point. While I'm typing this A/N up, I'll take the time to say this…

_**Thank you all so much for reading Sumina!!**_

That's all there is to it. You guys are awesome. Having support meant a lot to me, so really, you guys played a major part in this story (though I think I've said something similar to that before)! I really hope you like the final little part to this! (I hope I've wrapped this story up well.)

**Rating:** T, for implied sex. I didn't end up making it M, like I had originally planned…sorry, guys!

**Pairing:** ArthurxAlfred/EnglandxAmerica

---

~Five Months Later~

As the door to his shared room slams shut, Arthur groans, getting up from the bed. He is careless about his nudity; he gets dressed in the outfit he'd set out yesterday.

"Arthur, you're not up yet?" Alfred, now leaning against the door, inquires, an eyebrow raised in question.

He stretches out his limbs once his sweater is slipped over his body. "Obviously I was not," he snaps, glaring. "I don't see why it should be any different for you."

"Yeah, I mean, you _did_ keep me up all night…you've got more stamina than your appearance says!" Alfred laughs, but Arthur glares angrily at him.

"You're always so damn loud…have we gotten any mail recently? Kiku did say he would keep in touch with us."

Alfred frowns. "I'm not quite sure," he says, before his eyes flash bright in remembrance. "Oh, yeah! You got some mail two months ago. I forgot about it."

"You idiot!" Arthur was physically irate, fingers twitching with the desire to pick up the object nearest to him and chuck it at the American's head. Instead, he settled for glaring him down into a state of nervousness. "Two months ago?! How the fuck do you forget about _mail_ for _two months_?!"

"I dunno," he answers quickly, before rushing over to the desk and pulling out a few letters sealed in yellowed envelopes, Arthur's name written upon it in neat, flowing script. "But I think it's from Kiku; here." He hands the few letters over to Arthur, who snatches them from his hands and glares at him for a few moments before tearing open the first of the three, dated one month after the group took their own paths home. Alfred reads over his shoulder, chin resting against the scratchy wool of his sweater.

_Dear Arthur-san,_

_How is your trip home going? Or, if you are home, how has it gone? I would hope you'd have returned home by now, and especially without injury._

_Yao has been extremely upset. All he does nowadays is go into the garden and look out windows, always north. He sighs often while doing so. I wonder…do you think he's changed his mind? Sometimes I hear him crying before he sleeps, and other times I hear him reading his letters to Braginsky-san aloud. He starts over often, as if fearing he won't say anything right. He's sent a letter two weeks ago, but I don't believe Braginsky-san will answer back. He seemed awfully upset at the time we left him._

_Are you happy to be home with Alfred-san? It must be wonderful to have found someone you thought long-gone. I could tell Alfred was very happy – his eyes were very bright whenever he looked at you._

_Heracles and I have been very well. He seems content to reconnect with the world, rather than being connected with otherly spirits. I'm afraid to speak to him about this, though – do you think I should? I fear it might raise negative emotions from the past, though. It's a delicate topic for me…I just wish I knew how Heracles felt about it._

_I hope to hear from you soon, Arthur-san._

_From, Kiku_

Arthur sets the letter down on the desk, opening up the second envelope, much lighter in color than the other – he can only assume Kiku used less-aged envelopes for this letter.

_Dear Arthur-san,_

_I have not received a letter back from you in a month, so I assumed you had not made it home yet. Please forgive me if I am bothering you with these constant letters._

_Is Alfred-san doing well? I suppose I should ask if the both of you are doing well._

_Heracles and I are doing well, but Yao…Yao has not been very happy recently. He's sent many letters to Braginsky-san, and none have been returned. It's been a sudden decision of his to go to Braginsky-san's home in Russia to see how he's doing – a visit, he says, but I do believe that he will not be returning if that is the case. There is a strong connection between the two, and even Yao cannot deny that. Soon enough, he'll be living there._

_I'm not sure if there's much else to say here…if anything comes up, I will send you another letter._

_From, Kiku_

He allows Alfred to open the final letter while he sets the second aside; the last is dated one month ago – four months after they split.

_Dear Arthur-san,_

_My third letter. I hope nothing bad has befallen the two of you on your way home._

_Yao has gone to Braginsky-san's home in Russia. He will not be returning, as I expected._

_Heracles must figure out how to spend the fortune Animus amassed with his half-brother, Gupta; we're going to take a trip to Egypt to do so. I believe the money should be given to the people of the world, rather than split between the two – I think Heracles would agree with me. How do you think it should be split, though, Arthur-san? There are so many ways to do this…_

_I've considered speaking with Heracles about what has happened between us. We never speak of that fight, and I can only wonder how he really feels about it._

_I would love to see the two of you again, if I could. Perhaps Heracles and I will visit you after we've settled things with Gupta?_

_From, Kiku_

Arthur sighs, glaring back at Alfred again. "You damn fool."

"Sorry!" Alfred doesn't sound very apologetic as he says this.

"Whatever. Go get me paper, an envelope, and some stamps." He hears Alfred grumble as he slips from the room to fill Arthur's demand.

When he comes back, he places everything at the desk Arthur now sits at. "Here," he frowns, pulling up a chair to sit next to the Brit.

He rolls his eyes, leaning over the arm of his chair to place a kiss on Alfred's temple. "Thank you, Alfred. You should really tell me when we get mail right away though." Arthur turns back to the desk to write the letter, picking up a pen from where they stick out of the holes on the desk organizer.

"Can we still go into town once you're done writing this, though?" Alfred's tone is hopeful.

"Of course," Arthur rolls his eyes, "it's not going to take _that_ long, Alfred." The pen makes contact with the paper as he drags its tip across in a flowing script, more difficult to read than Kiku's do to its curled intricacy.

_Dear Kiku,_

_I apologize for not writing back earlier. Unfortunately, Alfred forgot to give me the letters, so I did not receive them until recently. Alfred and I are just fine. It took us about a month to return home, and I am happy to be with him again. He may be irritating and idiotic at times, but I do love him._

_You and Heracles have been well despite your troubles, I hope? About your problem…I believe the best thing to do is to just speak to him about it. It would no doubt be awkward at first, but this is how a relationship is, isn't it? Just speak to him about it. I'm sure it doesn't bother him as much as you seem to think it does._

_So Yao finally came to his senses? I didn't think he would have gone so early, though – I thought it would take him a year, at the least. It makes me wonder how he's doing…neither Braginsky nor Yao have written me. I don't care to get a letter from Braginsky, but I would not mind hearing how the two are doing now._

_Write me back about your trip to Egypt. I'd love to hear about it! I've always wanted to visit Cairo, but I'm often too busy to do anything of the sort. If you would still like to, the both of you are welcome to visit Alfred and I. We'd be more than happy to see you again, so don't hesitate on anything, alright?_

_Hoping to Hear from You Soon, Arthur Kirkland_

Alfred folds the letter once Arthur has finished, sealing it in the envelope. He licks his tongue across the edge to start the adhesive's reaction, laughing after he has stuck it down the way it should when he realizes Arthur had watched him seal it with utmost attention. The Brit glared and smacked him, but ultimately, he was still laughing.

Arthur sticks the stamps on the front of the sealed envelope and signs all of the information needed, deciding to send it to Cairo so that Kiku may pick it up there.

Once all this is done, Arthur sticks the letter in the pocket of his light jacket and slides it on, following the excited American down the long staircases of his tower to the front door. They begin to walk down the dirt road leading into town, where they will no doubt spend the afternoon after delivering the letter to the postal office. As the tower gets smaller and the busy London streets draw closer, Arthur laces his fingers with Alfred's, smiling over at his slightly taller lover. That smile is returned with a wide, immaculate grin.

Three missed letters later, and the two are doing well.

**SUMINA**

**-Epilogue, Part Three-**

**END**


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